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Lufu was shaking as she walked up the spiral stairs from your bedroom, her legs weak and stomach fluttering at the love making she had just experienced. She paused at the top of the stairs and caught a glance of herself in the mirror. Her makeup was running and her lipstick smudged, traces of cum still lingering on her partly exposed chest, and her legs still quivering from her intense orgasms. Pulling down her leggings ever so slightly, a line of dark marks were forming, leading down from just above her waistband to her pussy, still swollen and wet. She could hear voices rounding the corner and she hurried up the stairs to her own room, but not before a flash of purple hair turned the corner and caught sight of Lufus wild hair, ruined makeup, her shaking legs, and the faint smell of cum floating around her. A faint smile crossed the face of the woman with purple hair before ascending the stairs after Lufu. Watching quietly as Lufus slim ass swayed from side to side, she took a bold step and grabbed it from behind. Lufu jumped forward before turning around. Her expression went from indignified to humorous as she saw who it was.
'Jesus Melly, don't do that you'll give me a heart attack!' On the stairs below Lufu was Angelmelly, grinning to herself as she winked at Lufu. 'Oh come on Kath, you love my little surprises. Certainly didn't mind it last time.'
Kath looked at the ground as she blushed furiously as she put a finger to her lips. 'Not so loud dummy, you want everyone to hear?' 'You weren't so pressed about being quiet last time were you now? I don't think there was a single person that day who didn't hear us scissoring like that.' Melly said as Kaths face turned an even deeper shade of red.
Taking a step back, Melly noticed how flustered Lufu was, and not because of her own actions. She put two and two together, the messy face, shakiness and the heavy smell following her, and a slight dampness to her leggings gave her a clear idea of what she'd been up to. Kath, having recovered from her embarrassment tipped her head to the side and beckoned Melly to follow. She obliged and joined her side.
'So, who was it then?' Melly said to Lufu. 'Emm I don't know what you're talking about Mel, nothing happened.'
'Yeahh, sure.' Melly paused a moment before grabbing Lufu by the chin and tilting her head up before locking lips with her, tongue reaching inside her mouth and feeling Lufus fight back against it before giving in and letting the kiss deepen. Melly pulled away after a second or two and licked her lips.
'Oh Kath, that sweet and salty taste on your gorgeous lips, who's cock have you been sucking today honey?' She leaned in and raised her knee to Kaths pussy that started to heat up, and get almost uncomfortably sensitive as Mellys knee rubbed along her slit. Bringing her hands around she grabbed Lufus ass and pulled their hips tight and bending her neck around to nip at Lufus ear. 'Wanna pick up where we left off honey?' Melly felt Lufu shake as she slid her leg slowly out from between hers, and gently took her hand and let Lufu guide her to her room. As soon as the door shut, Melly dropped her shorts and bikini top, before rubbing her fingers along her perfect tits, playing with her nipples, sucking on them and moaning from her own efforts. Removing her lips from her round breasts, she sought out Lufu only to find a trail of clothes, leading towards the bathroom and the sounds of gasps and a soft wet slap could be heard from within.
Melly walked over and opened the door, finding Lufu perched on the bathtubs edge with her legs spread, pussy pink and dripping, fingers deep inside her own tight slit. The smell of cum only intensified as she spread her pussy lips, revealing her sensitive area that begged for attention. Taking her time, Melly strode slowly over, watching as Lufu pleasured herself with four fingers in her pussy and those on her other hand wrapped around her perky tits, fondling and pulling at her nipples. Melly bent over and put her lips to Lufus pussy. Before she got to work, she noticed thick sticky cum was flowing from Lufus pussy and said to Kath, 'So you gonna tell me who this mysterious guy who seems like he's hung as a horse is?'
'Make me' Lufu stated, challenging Melly.
Mellys eyes were drawn down to Lufus pussy, dripping with her own cum and someone else's thick white jizz. She dropped to her knees and stuck her tongue inside of Lufu, extracting a moan from the gorgeous brunette. Cum flowed from her pussy and trickled into Mellys waiting mouth, the taste driving her insane as she sought more, driving deeper inside Lufu in search of cum. Her hole was spread wide as Mellys slim fingers entered Kaths pussy over and over, pulling more thick cum from inside her, and into Mellys waiting mouth. She decided to change up her tactics, and let her cum soaked hands find her own aching pussy and push hot, sticky cum inside her snatch. It felt amazing as she felt a complete strangers cum enter her pussy alongside Lufus. Feeling that she was about to cum, Melly stood up and turned. She backed her ass up onto Kaths face and lowered her ass so it was just over Lufus waiting lips. Spreading her pussy wide, she let it leak and spread the mixture of juices onto Lufus face, and she had to cover her mouth to stop herself from shouting Kaths name as she came, tightening around Lufus fingers that jackhammered inside her pussy.
Her legs gave way and she sprawled to the floor, pussy still occasionally spraying cum as tiny orgasms shook her body. Her mind was spinning and she lazily rolled onto her back and let herself relax. Her relaxation was interrupted when pussy was spread back open and a hungry tongue joined by a pair of soft lips locked against her slit, and she felt the last of her cum get pulled into Lufus mouth, and with that Kath moved along Mellys body, tongue feeling her way up past her toned stomach and towards her perfect tits. Her hands grasped Mellys breasts and ran her hands gently on them and played with the perfectly sized lumps. Her eyes found Mellys and she moved closer, face only inches away. She leaned in close and whispered 'Fuck me Melly. Make me cum against that slick pussy of yours.'
Shivers ran down Mellys spine as she grabbed Lufus ass firmly, feeling her cheeks squash under her grip when she pulled her in closer so that they were now grinding their wet pussys against each other. They both started slow, enjoying the sensation as it slowly built up, soon making them rub faster and harder, wet slapping sounds accompanied by soft breathy gasps as skin met skin and soft pink flesh was rubbed all the right ways. It started to get frantic as Lufu neared her orgasm. Pulling Mellys leg close to her and swinging her leg over her shoulder, Kath began to bounce and sway her legs against Mellys, feeling the pleasure bubble within her. Her eyes rolled as Melly forced her hips upwards to lock with Lufus, and draw out the orgasm she had been building.
Kaths eyes rolled as she let go of Mellys leg and feverishly rubbed her pussy, spraying Melly in a short stream of her fluids. 'Oh Melly, I'm cumming! Ohh fuckkkk, finger me hard baby.' Wasting no time, Mellys fingers found their target and fingerbanged Kaths sopping cunt, and watching as her eyes closed in bliss. Lying back down opposite Lufu, Melly slowly rubbed her own pussy, relishing the sight in front of her. She stood up and left a now dozing Lufu on the bathroom floor. Before leaving, she draped a towel over her and kissed Lufu. 'That was real fun honey. But I need something more, substantial, more filling. And I know just where I can find it.' She stood up and walked out of Kaths room, fully naked and feeling more alive then she had in so long. She felt her ass bounce as she descended the basement steps. No light was to be found as her feet hit the cold concrete floor of the basement. A half built home gym stood off to one side, a kitted out recording setup to the other. And on the far wall, curtains partitioned off where she knew her pleasure was to be had. Only soft purple lights gave her any sight as she neared the velvet walls of the private bedroom. The curtains felt good against her bare skin and she took a moment to relish the feeling of soft fabric against her supple body. She took a breath and threw the curtains open, just to find your sleeping figure sprawled over the bed, a thin sheet your only piece of modesty to be had. Lifting the sheet and preparing for what was to come, Melly took a breath before looking at the shape of your limp dick in the darkness, easily five inches even though it was soft. Her breath caught as her hand wandered to its base and tried to wrap around it, a two handed job she found out. She took one hand away, and with that she threw away the sheet.
And what greeted her was not your sleeping body, but just pillows and rolled up blankets. Irritated, she threw the sheet back over the bed and went to storm out of the room. She walked past the bathroom and was met by the sound of running water, and sounds of water dripping and splashing as if it were running off of someone and falling to the floor.
She crept to the bathroom and cracked open the door. And her eyes found your body immersed in steaming water.
You could still feel Lufus fluids staining your dick and your face as you washed it all off under the hot water. You stretched down to pick a scrubber up from the floor, and you felt small pinching feeling on your back. You turn and look at your back in the mirror. Sighing and chuckling to yourself you admire the red lines that Kaths fingers had carved into your back, evidence from your hard session. You thought you heard the bathroom door creak but ignored it. It creaked again and when you turned to look properly, and before you was a gorgeous figure; thick thighs leading towards a set of curvy hips and a seductive dip towards a tight slit, and from there a slim stomach towards perky tits, and a stunning face with a wild purple mane flowing to her shoulders.
Her lips curved into a cheeky smile as she put her hands around your shoulders and raised one leg and wrapped it around your waist, pulling your bodies against one another. 'Oh em, hi, you are in the shower, I am the shower my shower actually. Who are you again?' You were completely confused as she didn't say a word, just moved her hands along your back, crept down along your shoulders and wide chest, feeling each ridged ab beneath her prying fingers. She lifted her head and with her chin barely brushing yours, she nipped your ear and whispered, 'hmmm, that's not important honey, but you can call me Melly. What's important right now is this' she said, hands going down to feel your dick stiffening under her grip. She leaned fully against your chest, feeling the heat rush towards her pussy as your thick cock pressed harder and harder between her thighs, throbbing as she rubbed her legs up and down its length. You looked down at the gorgeous woman in your grasp and felt around until your hands found her ass, full and round as your spread it open and rubbed your dick along her pussy as she got wetter and wetter. She dropped to her knees and for the first time saw how big it actually was. At least 13 inches, balls the size of walnuts dangling, heavy and full. She could barely fit her hands around it as she felt along its thick length and each vein was hot and pulsing under her hands. She was suddenly apprehensive about taking the whole thing, her mouth wasn't physically big enough to take it all.
'You sure you can handle this Melly?'
This set her off and she grabbed the base, almost painfully, but her fingers wrapped around your cock felt so good, and her other hand was massaging your balls as she took in every moan you let out. She let her tits fall either side of your cock, and grabbing shampoo from the shower wall dripped it over your dick and lubed it up as she gave you the best titfuck of your life. The hot and soft feel of her breasts sent you into heaven and she played with the tip, tongue flicking over your slit and gently blowing on the sensitive head. She lifted her hands away from her tits and started to bounce, hands behind her back and mouth sucking on the tip, breast bouncing wildly with your cock snug in the middle, twitching and throbbing as you felt your orgasm rise. Back pressed against the wall, cum poured from your dick and splattered onto her chest. She grinned as she pushed her tits together and greedily cleaned her chest, tongue bringing cum into her mouth and swallowing like a good slut.
She stood up and kissed your chest, nipping at your collarbone as she did so, teeth sending shocks along your body. She stepped back and turned, showing off her ass as she pushed it up against you. Shaking her ass she grinded against your cock, still hard and ready for more. Her moans floated to your ears as her body quivered, pussy dripping now and begging for attention. 'Ohhh, fuck. I need that cock inside me honey. Fill me with cum and make me squirt.'
She bent over and spread her ass cheeks, fingers spreading her pussy wide. It was a light shade of pink, fluids coating the sides. But there was another hole that looked even more inviting, her asshole was a tiny hole, winking slightly as her pussy quivered, inviting you in. 'So honey, you gonna put that monster inside me or not?' She opened her legs even wider and gasped as you rubbed your dick gently between her legs. Enjoying the feeling, you raised your hand and brought it down across her ass, leaving red handprints on her pale cheeks. Over and over you spanked her bouncy ass, watching as it jiggled with each hit. Her moans echoed within the shower and your cock was leaking precum as you rubbed your tip around her asshole. Melly began to say something but was cut short by heat and pain blossoming inside her sensitive ass.
'Ohhh, what the fuck are you doing, that fucki...' her protests were cut short as you pushed past the first five inches and buried eight inside of her, drawing moans from her lips and making your dick throb, each vein pressed tight against her walls. Grabbing a bottle of conditioner, you opened it up and slathered your cock and her bouncing ass in conditioner, turning the whole experience into a whole new level of pleasure.
Her lubed up ass gave into the overwhelming pleasure and she began to move, her hips thrusting back into yours, slapping her cheeks against you, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through your body. Her ass was hot and tight, squeezing around your dick as you started to pick up speed. You were thrusting furiously now, balls slapping against her thighs and fluids dripping down Mellys thighs, a mixture of conditioner, precum and Mellys slick cum running down her legs. You grabbed her arms and twisted them behind her back, dominating her as she took your dick balls deep and loved every inch of it. Holding her arms with one hand, you slid the other onto her throat and gripped gently, making Melly shake as her head went fuzzy and she was lost to the sensation. Bringing her close, you pushed her head to rest on your shoulder and bit her collarbone, eliciting whines from the gorgeous woman before you.
'Mmmm, honey I'm gonna cum, fuck my slutty ass harder, make me scream!' You dropped your hands from her arms and throat, moving them to her hips and taking a hold. Bracing her hands against the shower wall, Melly shook as you pounded away at her, legs shaking and tongue plank out in delight. Ohhh, oohh fuck. Fuck me harder honey, make me squirt all over, harder harder!' Her moans drove you insane and you smashed your huge cock into her and with one last deep thrust, you felt her legs buckle and her insides shake as she came, cum leaking as she squirted on the floor. You slid your cock out of her and looked at her ass, ruined from your efforts. The shower was running and in the steam and water, her body was flushed red as she rode ot the last of her orgasm. Sitting down with your back against the wall, your still hard cock begged for relief, and you slowly stroked as you watched Melly still shaking and gently playing with her pussy. She was laying on her side, and you started to pump harder as she felt herself up, hands bouncing her breasts and fingering her slit.
She giggled and looked at you wanking to the sight of her 'ohhh, like the view do you?' Your only response to this was a moan, as you shot hot sticky ropes of cum onto her face, leaving strings of cum dripping onto her tits from her chin. She got to her knees and looked at the mess you made, before stepping over to you and joining you under the shower head. After a minute or two of just enjoying the post sex glow, you stood and offered her a hand, her hand joining yous as you pulled her up. You washed the cum from her body, running your hands over every part of her. Supple breasts were treated like gold, each getting fondled and washed with care, the same going for her shaven clit, shaved and tight. Her long purple hair was plastered to her back and hugged her thin body perfectly. She turned and gave the same treatment to you, hands feeling tight muscles and smooth hardness all over. She took a dollop of shampoo to her hands and lifted them to your head, scrubbing your hair clean. The warm water was running between the two of you as you shared a kiss and stepped out of the shower. A towel was produced from the hot press in the bathroom and you rubbed Melly up and down, drying her and then letting her do the same as you.
You kissed her once more before giving her a cheeky slap on the ass as she departed from your company. You flopped down onto you bed and flicked on the wall lights, letting shades of green diffuse into the space. The sound of claws on concrete got your attention as a dog leapt up onto the bed beside you. He yawned and put his head onto your leg and stretched out across the bed.
'Christ Alfie, your hardly a big dog and yet you manage to take up half the bed. What I'll do with you when you're older and bigger I have no idea' you said scratching his ear and running a hand along his back. His breathing slowed and he fell asleep, head now beside your leg and curled up at the foot of the bed. You let the days events float away and you drifted off to sleep.
The next morning you were sitting in the Dining room of the Click house, eyes drifting between the TV, something Cray was saying, and some other growing noise in another part of the house. The chat show that had been on was interrupted by emergency news, and all attention was turned to the screen.
The newsreader was reporting on an apparent virus spreading through Asia, and officials were worried about it spreading to Australia. Cray bumped a hand against your arm and you turned to look at him. 'Now what do you reckon that means for us guys goin to Pax west in a few days? Surely it won't stop us from going.'
'I'll be honest with ye Cray mate' you said back to him, 'either you go and it's all fine, or you don't get to go. I'd say it's well worth the risk.' He thought about your words for a second and processed them. 'Yeah, your right. No point wasting time though, cos if this disease thing is gonna get in the way of us going we best get a move on and beat it.' He stood up and walked away, turning and looking over his shoulder at you 'Best I tell the guys to start packing now then.' 'You do you dude, doesn't matter to me anyways, not enough clout my ass.' You replied, mumbling the last part under your breath. Cray pouted at you and in the most childlike voice he could muster said, 'Awwww, is the widdle baby upset he doesn't get to go to Paxy Waxy?' You lobbed a pillow over your shoulder as he jumped up the stairs out of the way. You finished watching the news and cleaning up from breakfast, just in time to hear footsteps storming down the stairs. Liv turned the corner, eyes a mess and hair looking like a rats nest. She said nothing, deciding to pull out a stool and sit at the counter, head down on the marble surface. She didn't move until you shoved a cup of coffee under her nose and managed to rouse her.
'More Elliott trouble hun?' She blanked you until the mug was half empty and she felt like answering. 'Unfortunately yes, I happened to catch him in the act of taking dick pics in the bathroom and I can guarantee they weren't going to me' she said with defeat in her voice. You walked behind her and wrapped your arms around the mess of emotions in front of you. You put your chin on top of her head and thought out loud to her. 'Now what can we do to take your mind off of this shitty situation hmm? Got any interests?'
'I stream, sing and take pictures of things. And that's all that comes to mind right now.' You went over to the couch and stretched back out onto it, feeling Alfies fuzzy ears ticking at your fingertips. Liv went to the seat opposite and sat, steaming mug still in hand. 'You into photography? I never knew that.' 'Yeah, I've done the odd bit and always wanted to get seriously into it but never had the right amount of time, motivation or convenience all at once. If there was some opportunity to dive into it I would but I just don't know enough to do so.'
You smiled without saying anything, making confusion visible across Liv's features. 'What's the big grin for?' You sat up and replied to her 'If its opportunity you're looking for I have that and you'll have all the time in the world when half the house is at Pax this coming week. Theres a contest on internationally for the best use of snow and it seems theres some coming in New South Wales in the next few days. So I say we make the most of it and go there, stay a few days and take some pics. Her foul mood had vanished by the time you were finished speaking, and she was giddy at the opportunity presenting itself.
'Yes, absolutely I will do that. When's it to snow this week? Doesn't matter don't answer that, it's gonna snow soon so heres the plan, I'll book us somewhere to stay and you start packing while I do.
Her excitement was palatable and overflowing to you at this point, mind racing and getting ready for the trip that was to come.
So, that's that chapter done now, hope he enjoyed it. As usual, upvote and comment thoughts, what you wanna see next and anything else

This is a long one.
It’s been 7 years, nearly 8, since I was raped at work. While there are quite a few people (now) who know parts of the story, nobody knows it all. I feel as though it’s eating me alive but nobody sees it. I wouldn’t want them to. But some days I feel like I’m on autopilot, I smile, I laugh, I fake my way through things. But this feeling just won’t go away. I’m not sure if I’m looking for advice or what, but I feel like I need to unburden myself, akin to confessing my sins, although I am not religious, in the hopes that it will give me a sense of a step towards healing. Keeping it inside hasn’t helped so far. With that in mind, I’ll tell you my story.
I was 25, working at a massage parlour. Yes, one of those dodgy ‘happy ending’ joints. Extended unemployment had me leaning on my partner for far too long and I was tired of not pulling my weight. I actually found the place to be one of the better jobs I’ve had in my life in terms of becoming close friends with co-workers, many of whom shared a different version of my own difficult backstory. It was also one of only two jobs where I wasn’t fired after having one of my epileptic seizures at work (had lost 3 other jobs this way up to that point). I couldn’t believe it, but I actually felt at home there, it was owned and operated by women, and I was aware that they were exploiting us all, but was able to pay my rent and make more money doing less hours which was helpful given I have bipolar disorder as well as my epilepsy, and medication and specialists are not cheap.
It wasn’t unusual for a client to ask for ‘extras’ (other sexual services besides the standard hand job) but there were other girls there who did that so I didn’t feel I needed to be one of them. It wasn’t required, but the owners would look the other way if the girls wanted to make extra ‘tips’ and if anyone requested these services, I would recommend another girl who did, and had similar looks to mine, there were a couple of them.
The day he came in was like any other, I overheard the phone call when the booking was made, the client arrived on time and requested intros. (Some would book with a girl, others would have a 1 min ‘introduction’ with all the girls in shift and make a selection.) I remember returning to the ‘lounge’ (our staff area where we hung out, chatted, some girls would bring a laptop and do homework as quite a few were students) thinking there was no way I’d get the booking as Amy* (name changed) often got clients who had been intro’d to both of us (she looked like me, but tanned, leaner, just overall hotter than me). Not to mention when I leaned over to shake his hand my stilletto slipped from underneath me and I kind of stumbled and made an idiot of myself. I had no sooner settled in on the couch when the receptionist came back and said ‘Lila* (not my real name or pseudo), you’re up’. On my way out of the room, Amy, stretched out on the couch said ‘I’ve had him before’ in a way that seemed like she wasn’t happy about it. I figured she wasn’t happy about me getting the cash and not her. (Note: she was not one of the girls I had a close friendship with, we weren’t enemies, but we weren’t buddies either.)
The booking was for half an hour. He never asked about ‘extras’ and I feel now like I should have seen it coming. I wonder if he never asked because he wanted to be rejected, maybe that was part of the whole ‘game’. He stood close to me, leaned back, looked me up and down and put one hand on my waist to pull me in towards him. He said something to the effect of ‘you’re so sexy’ but I can’t remember precisely what. I put a hand on each of his shoulders and gently pushed him away while simultaneously stepping back and saying ‘Let’s get you on the table’.
The service I provided was a topless full body massage with a ‘body slide’ (sliding breasts over the client’s back, just the once) and ‘hand relief’ (hand job to finish the booking). He laid on the table facing up (I had never seen a client who didn’t lay face down first, which made sense as I would massage their back, then front before the ‘hand relief’. I feel like I should have picked up on that too as a red flag but at the time I thought he just wanted his ‘front’ massaged, or to look at me for the whole time.
I should mention at this point that we had the right to terminate any booking at our own discretion at any point without refund or question. Mind you, the house keeps the money in these cases. Clients can get overexcited so I worked on a ‘3 strike’ warning system. Less than five minutes into the massage he made a comment about my breasts and grabbed one of them. I pulled his hand away and said ‘We’re not that kind of place’ (clients were not allowed to touch us) and explained my 3-strike policy, finishing with ‘and that’s your first strike there’. It wasn’t long after that when he did it again, except instead of just reaching over, he propped himself up on the elbow closest to me, reached across and grabbed my breast firmly. I told him again: ‘We don’t do that here, that’s strike 2. One more strike and you’re out the door.’ (You still have to maintain the professional stance of not being repulsed by someone, so I did say it nicely, but nobody had ever had more than one strike from me before.)
I turned and took a step away from the table to where the massage oil was kept, it was momentary but when I turned back, he was standing up. He was taller than me in my heels (I’m 6 feet in 5 1/4 inch heels) and I gently encouraged him to lie down on the table, patting it with my hand. He put both hands on the table, one either side of me, and told me to turn around. That’s when my mind started to race.
He took both his hands off the table and slid them down my sides. It felt horrible but I saw a chance and turned around to face him in the hopes of slipping through the gap between him and the table and creating some distance between us to kick him out without being in arm’s reach. I wasn’t even halfway through turning around when he grabbed my right wrist with his right hand and pulled it. My arm slammed onto the table and he held it there. It felt like a microsecond between that and his left arm crushing down on my back, pinning me to the table, right arm useless, legs between his and him pressing me onto the table from behind, effectively disabling my legs as well. It happened in the blink of an eye. I knew what was about to happen and I knew that he had done this before. His attack had been too swift for someone who hadn’t had some practise. My left arm was hanging loose by my side and no help to me. And he knew it, so he didn’t bother to restrain it.
He pushed on the back of my knees with his leg and they buckled even further from under me, then used his knees to push my legs apart, which were now like jelly and shaking just a bit. He pushed my underwear to the side (I worked in underwear and heels) and then it started. He rubbed his penis between my labia and pushed it against me roughly. Then he inserted it and got really rough. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of crying, I just stared at the wall and waited for it to be over. I tried to just ‘be somewhere else’ and he must have felt me ‘give up’ and relax my body. I thought if I tried to focus on relaxing my body it might hurt less. That’s when his left arm lifted off my back.
He forced his left hand underneath my left arm and wrapped it around my throat. He started squeezing. I felt it get tighter and with my worst fear being a seizure (that would render me unconscious) I decided to speak before I was unable to do so with the grip he had on my throat. I had to think fast and it went something like this ‘Rapists want their victims to suffer, they want them to hurt. The last thing he wants is for me to be enjoying this, it completely negates the attack’ so I turned my head as far as I could and as suggestively as I could muster asked ‘so you enjoy this too, huh?’ trying to imply that I was enjoying it. He instantly let go of my throat and raped me as forcefully as he could until he pulled out of me and ejaculated on the towel covering the bed.
He walked over to the couch where his clothes were and began to dress himself. I was paralysed and stayed leaning over the table like I was superglued there. It felt like I was. I had no idea what to do next. Or what he would do next, so I was too scared to move. I thought he would pin me down again if I tried to stand up. When I willed myself to stand up, he was fully dressed and holding everything he came with, ready to leave. I said ‘Well, I guess I’ll walk you out then’ but it sounded like somebody else saying it. It felt foggy, walking him to the door, resetting the room, the whole place looked different somehow. I went to the bathroom in a daze and once I was in the shower, had the most intense silent crying episode of my life. But I knew I couldn’t hide in there forever. I cleaned myself up, pulled it together and returned to the lounge. Amy looked at me, and I looked at her. Neither of us said a word. I always wondered if it had happened to her, too. I still do. I finished my shift and pretended nothing had happened. That was all foggy too. Just.. strange.
I was pretty darn sure my job wasn’t legal (despite the owner’s explanation to the contrary) and was terrified about going to the police. I figured at best they wouldn’t believe me, at worst, I’d be the one in trouble. On top of that, I had no information about who he was and it all just seemed too daunting. I worked hard to erase it from my mind, but was unable to have sex with my partner of 5 years. He didn’t know that was my ‘new job’ (I was tired of him being responsible for my bills) and I couldn’t bear to tell him anything. I shut down, not just sexually, but emotionally, and thanks to my emotional shutdown was able to ‘zombie’ my way through several more months working that job. He found out I was working there and promptly instructed me to move out. I was shattered, but relieved I would never have to tell him what happened that day.
There was a magazine circulated on a regular basis by a group that deals with sex workers (they provided free condoms and information regarding where STI testing was available, consulted with the various establishments providing any ‘sex worker’ services and notified these establishments of ‘troublemakers’). Several weeks after I was attacked, I walked into work and saw the latest issue pinned to the notice board. I had never seen one of these with anything but their logo on the front. But this one was different.
My heart stopped. The front cover was him. His photo. ‘Beware: This man has recently been paroled from serving a sentence for violent rape. Repeat offender. If you see him, contact police’ It listed his name, his phone number, his last known address, and the 11 different aliases he was known to use. One of these was the same name I’d found unusual at the time of the booking, I’d even made small talk about it. I mentally tucked away this information, just in case.
I had nowhere to go after my partner kicked me out but back to my parents house. But at least I had somewhere. I maintained close friendships with my ‘colleagues’ long after I left and they helped me through my breakup. I had never finished high school so had to sit an exam to go to university, but passed with flying colours and received an offer for a Bachelor of Behavioural Science, something I’d been fascinated with my whole life but never had the guts and dedication to pursue. I was back at square one life-wise and it was time for a new direction.
The subject of rape came up through one of my Criminology lectures (my major was Criminal Justice, I wanted to work with juvenile offenders in rehabilitation) and I left early, shaking. I felt like everyone in the lecture hall knew. That they were looking at me, judging me. Free counselling was available to all students and I went from my Crim lecture straight to there to make an appointment. That felt like a weight off my shoulders, having committed to finding SOMEONE to TALK TO. The session was this strange juxtaposition of shame and relief. I felt lighter afterwards.
I stupidly mentioned to my mother that I’d sought counselling through the Uni and was met with questions. She is a very large part of my ‘difficult background’. She wanted to know why. I told her it was private. For almost 6 hours she grilled me. About 4 hours in I broke down and told her I’d been raped. I explained where I was working and that it had occurred there. I was told ‘Well, you shouldn’t have put yourself in that position, should you?!’ The interrogation continued. Now she wanted to know the details, exactly what happened. I said I wouldn’t go into it. It was shortly after 3am that I snapped. After hours of this I couldn’t take any more and screamed in her face at the top of my lungs ‘HE BENT ME OVER A TABLE AND FUCKED ME LIKE A DOG. ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?!’ I broke down sobbing as I’d never heard it in my own words broken down to a brutal sentence. It was as if the penny had finally dropped. My father heard this from the other end of the house and ended the conversation, telling her to ‘just walk away’. She did, we have never spoken of it since and she has never apologised.
Fast forward. I had a brief relationship (the briefest of my adult life) with a man who had the potential to be ‘the one’. If I’d met him before this, who knows. All I know is I was scared to be alone with strange men and desperately wanted to ‘get back on the horse’ with dating. I thought the longer I waited the more difficult it would be. It took a while for him to earn my trust, but earn my trust he did, and I credit him and his gentle, patient approach with me being able to reclaim my confidence and being able to enjoy sex, like I always used to before I was raped.
We hit a bump in the road (I was too scared to open up the ‘where is this going?’ talk for fear of losing him) and he wasn’t opening that door either but it had been a while and I thought I had better ditch him before he had the chance to hurt me.
That’s when someone I had truly loved from my past got in contact with me. We had been workmates, friends, lovers, friends again and it was the kind of connection that’s unaffected by the passage of time. He has a traumatic past and I confided in him about the rape. His father worked high up in law enforcement, my soulmate encouraged me to speak with his father regarding what had happened. His father reassured me there would be no negative consequences for me reporting this and that while it was the ‘right thing to do’ in the eyes of the law, I should only do it when, and if, I was ready. I felt empowered and he (the father) helped me through the process, from someone to talk to and ask questions, to literally taking me to the police station and waiting for me while I gave a lengthy statement that took hours. I couldn’t have done it without his support. I’m sure I never would have. By the time I made this report, it was a little over 3 years later. I had to force myself to remember but once I pushed myself, the floodgates opened. It was like it happened yesterday and I could picture every moment as I described what had transpired.
I was surprised that it was only just over a year after my report that police contacted me. I attended the station for a lineup, identified my attacker, amended my statement to add extra details and drew them a map of my former workplace. I was informed that my rapist was currently serving a sentence in a maximum security prison and therefore, would definitely not be hard to find when it came time for the trial. It was then only months before I was called in to meet with the DPP and prepare for trial. I was speaking with the sergeant assigned to my case outside the DPP’s office waiting for my lift home when she said to me: ‘I don’t doubt one bit of your story. I know we’ve got the right guy and I think you can help us put him away. For good.’
A date was set for trial, then 2 weeks prior, a 6 month adjournment left me waiting on edge, prepared, but then delayed. It was a difficult 6 months, but I knew things tend to just roll around if you try not to think about them. Then, sure enough, the date came. In that 6 months, my Witness Assistance Officer had taken another job and I was suddenly left in the hands of a stranger, not the same woman who had been preparing me from the start. But it was ok. I had people in my corner. Not to mention, the sergeant was so easy to talk to and the prosecutor assigned to my case was amazing. So relaxed, supportive and helpful. Not judgemental in the least, my biggest fears alleviated.
In Australia, as the accused, if you cannot afford a lawyer, one is assigned to your case, and it’s luck of the draw as to who you get. You have a choice between trial by jury, or judge alone. My rapist opted to avoid a jury and happened to be assigned a fairly prominent barrister for his defence. When the barrister’s name was mentioned in DPP meetings, it seems he had a reputation for being good at his job. While this may not have been a paying client, he was still required to defend my rapist to the best of his ability with his extensive expertise.
I was offered certain choices as the ‘victim’ in the case, deciding whether the court was open to the public and the media or closed, whether or not to have a court companion (provided by Witness Assistance Services) and having a screen placed between myself and my rapist. I thought I should use these options as they were available and requested a screen, court companion and a closed court. The screen was a combination of thin strips, alternating clear and frosted glass, which meant I was still able to see him in the dock, and he was close enough that I couldn’t have reached him, but seemed as if I could have spit on his face from the witness box.
We were allocated 5 days for a trial. It was completed in 6. As I gave my testimony, I was very aware that he was RIGHT THERE, although my court companion sat between the witness box and the dock, they were merely silent moral support, not allowed to speak, hold my hand or actually do anything. Purely psychological comfort. And given I had met them that morning, I found this comfort minimal at best. While I was questioned by the prosecution I could see him through the clear strips of glass, first leaning his head back against the wall, then holding his head in his hands, eventually pacing. I felt confident for the first time. I was leaving the District Courthouse when I caught sight of the prosecutor, still in her robes and wig, she was chatting with bailiffs as she walked but turned and gave me a huge smile with two enthusiastic thumbs up. I finally felt ready for the cross-examination the following day.
His barrister questioned several details of my statement, looking for more details, but my account of the event was solid and I did not waiver. I had specified that the accused had 3 tattoos but while I couldn’t recall the design, I identified the location of each one. There was some discrepancy regarding the booklet I had seen (it was a ‘flyer’ to him, but I had described the cover of a booklet, the same small magazine delivered every month) and I was questioned about a newspaper article from some months ago, regarding a tweet by a prominent member of the sex worker community in my city. He gave three names, asking if I knew any of these women (one being her real name and another her pseudonym, I later found on a google search). I did not, and told him this. I also explained that I don’t use social media, had no Twitter account and was not aware of this tweet. (She had put out a social media warning about my rapist after she had been attacked by him and the police had been unable to help her. This attack had occurred shortly before my attack, and I mean a matter of weeks.)
I saw one of my bosses in the witness waiting room after I was cross-examined, and a former colleague (and former close friend, I had cut all ties to the place after my report) outside of the courthouse. I don’t know who else may have been called to testify, but there were several key names in my report, I can only imagine they were also subpoenaed to testify.
The wait for the verdict was tough, but I distracted myself as best I could. My daughter was about to turn 2 so we booked a quiet holiday, our first family holiday and moments after we arrived, I got the call. Apparently the judge had found me to be ‘an honest and credible witness’ but had to deliver a not guilty verdict due to the fact that while tattoos A and B were correctly identified, tattoo C was not there. (Being over his heart in my memory, perhaps I unconsciously drew a target on him in my mind.)
The discrepancy regarding the flyer / magazine was the only other issue, but in hindsight, the magazine was red and the information was on white paper, the only conclusion that makes sense to me is a FLYER, GLUED TO THE FRONT OF A MAGAZINE. I was told by the prosecutor: ‘I am so sorry for this outcome, I believe it should have been different. But a case as unique as yours will stay with me. You will be remembered by me, and my staff as well, for your strength, class and integrity’. It was good of her to say, but still, it did not mend my broken heart.
The judge had been forced to make this ruling as these two discrepancies left room for his ‘it was someone else’ defence and thanks to these two details it could not be proven beyond a reasonable doubt that it was him. It must have hurt, being a female judge and knowing his criminal history, but also knowing she was not allowed to be biased by it. A judge is held 100% to the confines of the law on a ruling, unlike a jury, who can vote with their gut. My guess would be previous experiences with jurors have taught him something, or that his barrister advised him this would be a gamble.
This man, if you can call him that, has only appeared twice in the media that I can find. Both involved a violent home invasion, holding someone hostage in their home and repeatedly raping them. At the time that he and I crossed paths, he had been paroled after serving 4 1/2 years of a 9 year sentence for the first of these attacks (that were reported in the media, that is). He received a 10 year sentence after the next of these and will be eligible for parole in 2021.
I am terrified. My daughter is not even 4 yet, making her the same age as the little boy who had a knife held to his throat by this man, to prevent his mother from screaming for help while this man raped her in front of her child. I keep thinking that he had no idea who I was, not even my real name, until I took this to the police. But now, he knows my full (real) name and my date of birth, thanks to me providing it in court under oath. He has proven he is capable of holding a grudge (the sex worker who reported him wrote a detailed article about him returning to her place of business and violently attacking her again). I wonder if I would have been better to continue to hide it, to keep trying to forget it, rather than dredge it all up, re-live it in a courtroom and possibly put myself and my family in his crosshairs in the future.
I don’t know what to do. I feel so let down by the judicial system and I’ve been scrambling to increase my home security and get my name removed from the electoral roll before 2021 hits, but the pandemic has been a serious distraction. I’m not sure what I’m trying to achieve with this post, but I don’t want to burden my family with this and have never told the story from start to finish to anyone.
He is incredibly strong, has a history of violence against women and every reason to seek revenge on me. I’m considering changing my name by deed poll. I’m so scared for my baby girl and it’s like a waking nightmare. I just don’t know how to get over it. Sometimes I go into my backyard at night, then go straight back inside because I feel like he might appear somewhere at any moment, over the fence or from the side of the house, for instance. I hate being scared of a ghost.
To those who read this entire post: Thank you.

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I post these editorials in the morning because before bed and early are when I do my best slow thinking. They are actually hard for me to post because they make me feel a little vulnerable, though I'm not sure why - or why still. I used to just delete them about an hour after I posted them. I get up before dawn so I doubt any of you caught it. Then I started leaving them and saying I would delete them later. Either they had a time sensitive stock "idea" or just something I changed my mind on later. Then people asked me to stop doing that.
I try to be more selective about what I post and make sure it has real value to learns like I do. These posts get the least Up-votes so I know they are not read as much because those are generally good "I've read this" checks to know whats popular. They are always at the bottom of the sorted lists and I'm lucky to get one comment.
But the comments I do get are usually profound ones like "I can't believe no one explained it that way to me.. I finally get it". That was me. I never got things the way other people did. Since I was a kid. I had to find people who taught me things in a way that I understood. Now I think I have advantages for the way my brain learns a little differently, whether I shaped it or not. But it doesn't make it any easier to know that when most people read your stuff they just don't care about half of it. But now I know that's them not me.
I finally realized like me, some people don't learn like I do, so this part of my content does not interest them and that's just fine with me. I really started this sub to help my fellow slow thinkers. The people who can read something like this and extrapolate some hidden value that I might be trying to get across. That's who I am anyway. And as long as every once in a while, I get a note that says I helped someone see something new for the first time, then I'll keep trying different tactics to get through to different minds. If you don't like them, just skip anything labeled "Opinion".
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Yesterday I posted the content from our Guest Mentor, John Chao. For our Q&A I let him do his own editing so he chose what words he bolded. The only one I added bold to out of the whole thing was this sentence that he came up with in the moment.
"To be a consistently profitable trader, we need to be disciplined like a professional athlete."
One of my favorite novels of recent years was a book called The Art of Racing In the Rain. It has since become a movie, and one I quite like. It's about a dog who's owner is a race car driver, told through the dogs perspective. The owner meets a girl and a lot happens, but without spoiling it, there's some health crisis that occurs, which is probably what made me connect to it so much.
The dog's owner, a racer named Denny Swift, is not a big guy. He wasn't in the book either. But he was sharp. Sharp physically and mentally. He was alert and wired and ready to go. But he was also cool and calm and the longer he raced the more cool and calm he appeared on the outside while on the inside he was corralled team of horses waiting to be let out to pasture whenever he needed them. All the terrible struggles and victories he faced seemed minor because he was always cool - always ready.
I had one bad group/mentor that I regret. It actually was not a bad service, but it was just pay-to-win setup. I had no control over what I bought. I did place my orders, but they picked the stocks and prices. I never took a trade for a while because it made me feel so sick. They posted winning members trades on a Facebook, sort of like I have been posting our member's great trades recently. I was sure it was a scam. I thought, they are only posting the good ones. It bet that's like 5%. I spent all my time finding new ways to get angry at other people, when I was just angry at myself for wasting all this money that I was already hurting for from a horrible loss streak.
I actually have been angry about that until this morning when I was talking to a new member about possibly posting a good trade she had, but she wanted to "wait for a better one". (Good for you!) In the shower this morning, my best slow thinking time of day, I asked myself, am I just like that guy who ran that service? I don't charge money but the effect is still the same. Maybe I don't want to be famous or rich from this mentoring but I do want a big following of people committed to independence. So am I selling out in a way? I then emotionally re-processed what I went through with that paid service.
I stayed about a month, even though I paid for a year because it was 50% off, and I was not making good choices at the time. Every day I got a tip and every day I didn't take it because I felt like it was resigning to the fact that I would not make it as a trader. I went to the Facebook every day and kept reading those winning trade recaps. I was furious. I wanted my money back but I knew I made the decision and it was one I wanted to live with. After a couple weeks I took one trade. I made back all the money I paid for the course and deleted my account. This was less than 5 years ago
That was the last time I spent money on anything that I did not know exactly what it was and how it would help me be independent. I did not resign myself again after that day though I came close many times again. I took desperate measures to get back above PDT and it hurt but I did it. I can feel my heart rate increasing as I type this and had to get up to walk around, that's how traumatic it was. I had already taken some really quality education before this, for over a year. I already knew cycles, waves, divergences. I knew how to race. I just hadn't done it enough and thought I should be Denny Swift, the racer from the book, without having his ten thousand laps.
To me the stock market is a race track. The scans I give out, or watchlists anyone else does, are race cars. They are great tools in the right hands, but like a new racer who's tires were not changed by a team the driver trusts, they are just as likely to crash it as make a clean lap. They read the books and watched the videos. But they haven't raced enough. They should have gone 5 miles and hour, but they went 60. They could gone for one lap, but they went for two. They don't have the best gear and don't even know what the best gear is. Is there even a best set of gear for everyone or do they need to study more books to find out what their best gear is? There's tons of race cars and they all work just fine. If you can't drive one yet, switching to another one won't help.
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I think I'm finally over that bad program I paid for at one of my lowest moment in trading. But, boy, did it take a while to figure that one out. If you took anything from this post, or are new to trying to find the hidden message then let me help you this time. Notice all the links I put about a Nobel-prize-winning-book that helps you determine if you are a slow or fast thinker and how not figuring that out can hold you back for life. Notice how I actually figured out what my most thoughtful time of day is (in the shower) and I know what to think about during those few minutes to get more out of it. I know what foods literally cause me to make poorer choices when I trade. I mention a novel I read because I thought it might be insightful to my life and now my trading. I can't race a car, I've never watched Nascar, and I rarely drive myself anymore. I have health problems that make just getting out of bed feel like a long hard race most days.
But even on my worst days, my mind is sharp. And if I'm not well enough to exercise one day, I'm probably reading about how to improve my exercise for the next day. I never miss and opportunity to improve myself and apply learning in everything I do. My mind is a corralled team of horses and I am always ready to meet a challenge with full force and commitment because I am prepared.
I was born a thoughtless baby just like you. I had more disadvantages then most but I want the mind of a racer, not that helpless trader I was a few years ago, so I work at it constantly. It's contagious and addictive and I love it so much more than sitting around waiting for things to change when I know they rarely do.
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skotlaroc is one of our members and someone who has made more progress than most. He can't race full speed yet but his racer's mind is developing rapidly and when he's ready I am confident he will crush it. One reason he is making such progress, and others like him, though its not always apparent when we they are the ones driving, he talks to me and other trades constantly. He happens to be in Australia and trades the ASX which puts him at a huge disadvantage because he doesn't trade the tickers I talk about, his market has totally different volatility and his market opens when mine closes.
But rather than give up he learned how to drive on a wet track. Rather than be upset about the time difference he uses it to his advantage with my weird sleeping schedule. Since he is going to bed when I am waking up, he actually figured out that that my (Ryan's) slowest thinking time is before dawn and right before I turn off my screens at night so he always catches me then to get my more insightful feedback. He probably doesn't even know he did this but he knew how to get the most out of a situation by figuring it ut. He's making choices and his team of horses is growing in his mind and his car is revving up on the track. He just has to survive long enough until he can take his off the speed limit control and go full speed with a full team of horses in his engine.
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I don't want you to think I don't have fun and just work all day. I work a lot because I love it and the only thing I do more than trade right now is this community. But I get my ego handed to me by a 10 year old every day at 3:00.

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I bought the Cadillac of bubble machines to add excitement to our squirt gun fights.

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And even go down the slide I put in last year for her.
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I still play first persons shooters when a good one comes out, I watched the second season of Umbrella Club twice and I probably have more THC in my blood than your teenage children.
But everything I do is deliberate and thoughtful. It doesn't mean I always work hard or work it all. I just know that life is finite and mine probably more than most. I will never again waste one minute feeling sorry for myself or blaming other people for anything when I can choose to use that time to try to resolve what got me upset in the first place.
I know most people who take my scans never look at the code to learn, even though I say this is its purpose. I know people buy things I just post a ticker of, which is why I rarely do. I see oh so many people talk to me about concepts and they are showing they understand them but then I click their names I still see them still posting on other reddit's asking complete strangers "what do you guys think about XYZ?"
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I woke up to a new message from skotlaroc this morning before 3:00am. His market had closed so he was done for the day. I told him I was going to get some coffee and to leave me an update on his trading. He knows he is at risk of being posted about if he talks to me. just don't judge us for our typo's at that time of day.

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You notice he doesn't tell me how much money he made or lost because I don't care what he does in a day. I care what he does in a year. What I can tell you is that is the dialogue of a racer in him. Neither of us are Denny Swift's and I might have a faster lap time, but he knows how to drive and that's all that matters. He slowed down now so he can control the car better. He can always go faster later
I've said this before, and it's not just hyperbole: the quality of people in this group and the promise of this community is far higher than anything else I have been involved in by a huge margin. I think we have a lot of real racers here. Just don't crash the car before you take your thousand laps.
Good Luck. Buckle Up.

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What do you mean 'Pre-Recession'?
After the year 2000, but before the economic recession of 2008, GM was making some weird cars. Retro styled cars, cars with high performance trims (for seemingly no reason), cars with LS motors mounted sideways, and of course, Saabs.
Why these cars came about is complex. If somebody is willing to offer a theory, I'm all ears. However, I'm not here to explore the roots of this issue, only what fruit it ended up bearing. While many of these cars may have continued production after the recession of 2008-2010, most if not all were born of the white heat of stupidity that lost GM $82 billion before this time. I say stupidity of course, because most of the following vehicles I would like to own one day.
GMC and Chevy Trucks with 'Quadrasteer'
Quadrasteer was a rear-steering system developed by Delphi Automotive Systems, a subsidiary of GM. It was called 'quadrasteer' because, you guessed it, all four wheels were steerable at once.
Available on the '02-'05 Chevy Suburban / GMC Yukon XL & Chevy Silverado / GMC Sierra, the system greatly reduced the turning circle of the long trucks.
The system worked via a series of microprocessors that would asses the driving situation, and then turn the rear wheels with an electric steering rack. At slow speeds, like in a parking lot, it would turn the rear wheels in the opposite direction of the fronts, reducing the turning radius. At highway speeds, it would turn the rear wheels in the same direction as the fronts, making the big trucks more maneuverable and less prone to rolling over. The most it would actually ever steer the rear wheels was something like fifteen degrees.
The option was primarily aimed at people who tow frequently. Having rear steering makes driving with a trailer much easier, as it allows for the vehicle-trailer combo to take tighter turns (in a nutshell).
The Quadrasteer trucks were also equipped with some manner of adjustable rear suspension, which you could tighten up when you were towing a heavy load, further increasing the truck's stability at speed. I'm not sure how these shocks worked, if they were magnetic, or had a type of internal valve adjustment. There's very little information about them online.
The Vortec 8100 / L18
The Vortec 8100 was a naturally aspirated, 8.1 liter big block V8 introduced as an option in 2001 on full-sized trucks, vans, RVs, and SUVs. Also popular as an engine in boats, the Vortec 8100 was marketed as an alternative to GM's Duramax diesel engine. This motor had a cast iron block, and cast iron heads. This gave it a gross weight of... 761 pounds. At the time, it was competing with Dodge's 8.0 liter V10, and Ford's 6.8 liter V10.
In stock guise, the engine had 9.1:1 compression and only 340 horsepower due to torque-optimizing truck heads. Speaking of torque, it made 450 ft/lbs at 3300 RPMs.
Pickup trucks equipped with this engine get around nine miles per gallon. For this reason (among others), the engine was discontinued in 2009.
Unusual Vehicles That Came Northstar-Equipped
The first generation SRX ('04-'09), was available with the 4.6 liter, 320 horsepower Northstar V8 engine. Strange for a mid-sized crossover. It could also be had with magnetic shocks. It was available in either RWD or AWD.
The Buick Lucerne sedan could also be had with a 4.6 liter Northstar from '06-'11. Really, it's like a successor to the Buick Lacrosse Super. I say this because it is front-wheel-drive, just like the LS4 equipped cars were. You still get four 'Ventiports', and it makes about the same power, too (275-292 horsepower). It's also called the Lucerne Super, so there's that.
The tenth and final generation Pontiac Bonneville (yes, they made a GXP) was also available with a 4.6 liter Northstar, albeit only producing 275 horsepower. A four speed automatic transmission was the only option. A modified version of this car set a FWD speed record at the Bonneville salt flats at 204 mph.
Both generations of the Oldsmobile Aurora ('95-'99 and '01-'03) (the first generation definitely looks the best) were also available with a FWD Northstar. It was the smallest eight-cylinder Northstar at 4.0 liters. It made 250 horsepower, and was strictly backed up by a four-speed auto. This transmission could not be shifted manually, but had two ferocity settings called 'Normal' and 'Power'. At the time this car was released, it was well-regarded for its nice ride, excellent build quality, and refined engine. Its body structure is also apparently extremely rigid.
Just look at that shifter. Looks like a beige leather Gumby.
A highly modified (still 4.0 liter) twin-turbocharged version of this engine was used in a racecar spec of the Aurora for the Indy Racing League and IMSA. It made 650 horsepower. The engine is cool, but the car (The Aurora GTS-1) looks absolutely amazing. It has a big wing, shoots flames, and has gold wheels. It won first in its class at the '96 24 hours of Daytona. This great picture of it was taken by reddit user robwoodham.
Never thought my new wallpaper would be an Oldsmobile Aurora.
Chevy Colorado Xtreme
The '03-'12 Colorado is on the GMT355 platform, and shares its basic architecture with five other cars. The Colorado Xtreme is like the SS version of the Colorado, but its called the 'Xtreme'. What is it with marketers removing vowels from buzzwordy names? Why the fuck is 'Activ' a thing?
The Colorado Xtreme gets different front and rear bumpers, new side skirts, some fender flares, a different grille, altered headlights, and 18 inch wheels.
Mechanically, the car's suspension was lowered and stiffened up a little bit. This generation Colorado was available with a series of engines (including a 2.5 liter 4cyl, a 3.5 liter 5cyl, and a 5.3 liter V8), but as far as I know the Xtreme package didn't specify any particular one that you had to get.
You could get this trim on any body-style of the Colorado, so you could have it on the regular, extended, or crew cabs.
Tahoe / Silverado / Suburban Hybrid
Most of you probably know they made a Hybrid version of the Tahoe and Suburban. They also made a Hybrid version of the Silverado pickup. Launched in 2004, It was GM's first hybrid passenger car. Really, this system seems pretty useless. It sounds like a sort of very aggressive start-stop. Interestingly however, the Hybrid Silverados were equipped with four regular 120v outlets (two under the rear seats and two in the bed). Construction crews apparently liked that kind of thing.
The pickup was discontinued in 2008, and according to Wikipedia, replaced with a new version on the GMT900 platform that had a CVT. This truck apparently sold very poorly, and sounds like an engineering nightmare.
"On its own, the V8 is rated at 332 horsepower and 367 pound-feet of torque. GM engineers say that combined output with the electric motors is 379 hp. The unique transmission houses the electric motors along with three different planetary gear sets and four traditional clutches" (Wikipedia).
As far as the Tahoe goes, Daddy Doug did a video about this car that's really gonna do a better job of explaining them than I am. I recommend you watch it.
They also made a hybrid version of the Escalade, and a pickup truck version of the Escalade, called the EXT. I don't think they made a hybrid Escalade pickup, though. What a shame.
Silverado SS & VHO / Vortec Max package
The Chevy Silverado SS visually looks like a mix between the Trailblazer SS and the Colorado Xtreme. Launched in 2003, It is based on the 1500 Silverado Extended Cab. It was equipped with the 6.0 liter LQ9, backed up by a four speed auto. AWD was initially standard, as was a 4.10:1 final drive and four wheel disc brakes. In 2005 a RWD version became available, but this version ditched the rear discs for drums. After 2006, the RWD version was the only one offered. Buyers could also choose a cloth interior and/or a bench seat. Lowered suspension was standard, as were 20 inch alloy wheels. All the SS trucks, both RWD and AWD, used torsion bar style front suspension.
They also made a Silverado SS 'Intimidator', to honor the late Dale Earnhardt. It had different badging, a subtle rear spoiler, and some slightly different upholstery. According to a period piece by trucktrend.com, "It will include a lowered ride height, performance suspension, two-stage multi-leaf springs, Tenneco shocks, a stiffer front stabilizer bar and harder front jounce bumpers. It will also be rear wheel drive with a 3.73 locking rear differential."
It was only available in black.
The VHO and Vortec Max packages are a total rabbit hole to research. First of all, they are not necessarily the same thing, however I don't know why they had to rename what are essentially to reasonably similar performance / aesthetic packages for the Chevy Silverado / GMC Sierra. These two packages are essentially just slightly different Silverado SS' without the aesthetic changes.
The Vortex High Output (VHO) package became available in Texas and other surrounding areas in 2004. The single biggest change from the regular trucks was the 6.0 liter LQ9 V8 This engine was shared with several other trucks, including the Silverado SS. VHO equipped trucks also got the Z60 High Performance suspension package, 4L65E transmission (four speed auto), and a 3.73:1 locking rear diff. Aesthetically, you got new chrome 20in wheels. This package could only be had on extended cab standard box 2WD trucks, and lasted until 2005.
In 2006, it was replaced the the Vortec Max package. It could now be had in 4WD, got different suspension than the VHO, and could be had with a 4.10 rear gear. There were a few other changes as well, but none major. It lasted until 2007. If you would like to read more about these confusing trucks, the Silverado Wikipedia page is a great place to start.
'00-'04 Cadillac Deville DTS' Equipped with Night Vision
People like to shit on Cadillacs from this era, but the truth is that any issues with interior fit and finish were more than compensated by the technology they got. GM invented magnetic shocks, and a lot of the first cars to get them were Cadillacs. That must've hurt for a SPORTY European brand when they had to license the technology from... Cadillac. Makes me smile thinking about it. Anyway, they were also the first cars to ever receive a night vision system.
That's right, night vision. The system utilized an infrared sensor behind the grille, which relayed data back to the vehicles heads-up-display. You got a black and white 'thermal' image, in your Cadillac, on your HUD, in the year 2000. The system was co-developed with Raytheon (the defense contractor) and lasted until 2004 when it was discontinued.
Here's a period television advertisement for the system.
Pontiac G8 GT and GXP
The Pontiac G8 is like the GTO, as it was a re-badged Australian import. More specifically, a Holden Commodore. They're a reasonably big and comfortable RWD sedan. It was for sale in the states from 2008-2009.
The base model has a 3.6 liter V6 and it's automatic only. We do not care about it.
The next trim up was the G8 GT, and it came with a 6.0 liter, fourth gen LS. It had about 360 horsepower, but still no manual transmission. On the outside, it looked a little different. It got clear (as opposed to red) taillight lenses, and quad exhaust tips. You could also get a fresh set of 19s.
The top dog was the G8 GXP. It recieved a 6.2 liter V8 out of the Corvette (the LS3), and finally; a six-speed manual transmission. This meant 415 horsepower and 415 ft/lbs of torque. It could reach sixty miles-per-hour in just 4.5 seconds, and complete a quarter in 13 seconds. It got GM's FE3 sport suspension, and big Brembo brakes. These brakes were definitely necessary, as the G8 weighed very near 4000 pounds. It of course got its own unique front and rear fascias, twin-scoop hood, and wheels.
If you're gonna get this car, I would say get the GXP. However, they only made about 1,800 of them, with 846 being stick. So uhh... good luck. There is one stick GXP for sale on Autotrader for around $19k, with 135k miles on it. Other cleaner examples go for upwards of $30k, even without a stick. Most of them are between $20k and $30k.
There was also some speculation that a 'Ute' (ElCamino car-style pickup) version would be imported. The thing actually showed up at the 2008 NY auto show, but was never sent to the United States. It looked like this.
There was also speculation they would release a wagon version, because they already made a wagon variant of the Commodore in Australia. This never happened either, but people often swap the fascias of these cars, so we at least know what it would have looked like.
You also have Bob Lutz to thank for this car, just like the GTO.
GMC Envoy XUV
The Envoy XUV perhaps deserved it's own article, but honestly, it's really dumb, really boring, and it looks like shit. So I didn't want to write it. I'll struggle through a short description here.
This 'truck' seems very similar to the Studebaker Lark Wagonaire from 1963-1966.
I'm gonna climb up onto my niche car knowledge high horse right now. Wow! I can barely see anything from up here!
The Wagonaire had a very similar arrangement to the XUV. A big sliding panel could telescope into the front area of the roof. This essentially provided the same functionality as the Envoy, and it also leaked like a colander.
The Envoy XUV's whole shtick was that you could put tall shit in the back of your Envoy--like you could in a pickup truck. Stuff like... I don't know... Ladders, grandfather clocks, a ficus--I don't get it. Why not just fold down the rear seats? Unless you have like, a big Tetris-style L shaped refrigerator box, this whole idea is pretty stupid! There's a reason why only one other car did this. GM expected to sell a lot of these--like thirty thousand a year. They sold more like 28 thousand total after a brief 18 months in production.
Hummer H3
The Hummer H3 shared a platform with the Colorado. You could also get a pickup version of the H3 called the H3T. Both of these cars could be had with a 5.3 liter V8, or a 3.5-3.7 liter, five cylinder Atlas engine, making around 220-240 horsepower. The five cylinder could be had with--get this--a five speed stick shift.
So yes. You could have a 240 horsepower, five speed, five cylinder Hummer H3 that weighed at least 4600 pounds. Thanks GM!
Pontiac GTO / Holden Monaro / Cadillac Catera
The Holden Monaro-based Pontiac GTO was actually a great car. They're still popular today in and out of muscle car circles. They could be had with either a 5.7 liter LS1 (350hp), or a 6.0 liter LS2 from the Corvette (400hp). A stick shift was optional, they were rear-wheel-drive, and they were quick as all hell.
They were brought to the states as a Pontiac after the Holden-badged version received great praise from auto journalists when they drove it in Australia. Bob Lutz fought the good fight and got them imported over here so we could enjoy it.
The GTO in the states weighed about 3800 pounds due to its big V8 and sturdy suspension. It has four-wheel disc brakes, and independent rear suspension. The seats in all of these cars are apparently very good. They also pull .88g on a skidpad , and magazines at the time described them as soft, but good handling cars. They imported about 41k, and prices today are reasonable. Nice ones can be had for around $15k or less.
I recommend reading the Wikipedia article concerning these cars, as its well done, and contains every detail you would ever want to know about them. Here's a link to that.
I included the Cadillac Catera because everyone forgot about it and it's on the same basic platform. It was actually just a re-badged Opel. Very sad car to look at, and drive. The only available engine was a 200hp 3.0 liter V6, and the only transmission was a four-speed auto. The last one was made in 2001, so it's just barely in my pre-recession threshold.
A Saab 9-3 SportCombi Rabbit Hole
The 9-3 SportCombi is the wagon version of the 9-3 sedan. There were two different styles of front fascia for this car. The version I'm going to focus on is the final one, made from 2008-2009.
I found myself in this rabbit hole because I was going to combine the 9-2X article with a 9-3x Sportcombi article. I knew they made a 9-3x SportCombi Aero with AWD, which had an identicle 0-60 time as the 9-2X Aero. For all intents and purposes, they were nearly the same car (both AWD 'Saab' wagons with similar performance specs). I thought it would be a cool thing to do, however I ran into a conundrum.
Now, all of the following production numbers come from 'esaabparts.com', so don't come after me if my counts are not to your liking.
They made 2,060 9-3 SportCombi Aero wagons, but only 356 were AWD. It's complicated, too. Besides the regular Aeros, of which there are 221, they made the "Turbo X" cars. These are just black 9-3, AWD Aeros with a special badge. They made 135 AWD wagons in the "Turbo X" guise. That means we have 356 cars of identical spec, besides the transmissions and colors. Of those 356, there are 90 available in stick (these 90 are the ones I was looking for)
My new mission was finding one of these 90 SportCombi, Aero, AWD wagons with a 6spd stick. It's essentially a Saab 9-2X Aero, just much rarer and more niche.
Even finding automatic versions of this car was difficult. I found only one on Cargurus.
Frustrated, I broadened my search to ANY manual, AWD Sportcombi Saab (they also made the non-Aero 2.0T). This made me realize that, actually, the most uncommon version was the 2.0T stick, at just 76 total (so there's a total of 166 AWD stick SportCombis). Well I looked and looked, and only found sold ones. I think everyone who knows what this car is snaps them up as soon as they come up for sale. Besides the automatic Aero I found, I located two 2.0T AWD wagons with automatic transmissions. If you really want one of these cars, PM me and i'll send you the links.
Just get the 9-2X, though. I wasted my life looking for these cars.
Saturn Astra
The Saturn Astra was a re-badged Opel Astra, and it was imported in the United States in 2008 to replace the Ion. Available with just one engine, a 1.8 liter four cylinder with 138 horsepower, it was pretty bad. Transmission options included a five-speed stick or four-speed auto. The version pictured is the five-door, but they also came in a three-door that didn't look half bad.
Doug DeMuro wrote a somewhat interesting article about them three years ago on Autotrader's Oversteer. Apparently Doug used to be a Saturn Salesman.
He claims it's the coolest Saturn ever, but that's just plainly not true. How could this hold a candle to the mighty LSJ-powered Ion RedLine? Plus, The interior on this car is truly dismal.
Looks like somebody spray painted some clamshell packaging silver and glued Oreos to it. Everything I read about this car anywhere says it's a total piece. Parts are apparently very scarce, so you can get them for absolutely nothing. I wouldn't if I were you.
Conclusion
The best part of this series was hearing the stories in the comments, and the feedback you gave me concerning the many assumptions I had to make. The threads are really a wealth of information concerning the cars themselves, and the human side of them.
I recommend anyone interested in this era of vehicles from General Motors (and why they went bankrupt) either read or listen to Bob Lutz's book Car Guys vs Bean Counters. Lutz was GM's chairman at the time. He spends some portions of the book patting himself on the back, and other portions disputing the merits of climate change. At other times, he's extremely critical of the media, and the left wing in general. That being said, he also has a good sense of humor, a genuine care and interest for cars, and he has a unique behind-the-scenes perspective on the whole situation. He's the sole reason why we got the Solstice, GTO, and G8 to name a few examples. There's a lot of great stories in the book I'm sure you would all be glad to hear. I recommend getting the audiobook. The narration is good and I listened to it while I was driving.
If you would like to read more of these sorts of stories-- I'm open to writing more, It's just tough for me to justify without being compensated. That however, does not mean you have to pay anything for them. Send a tip to somebody like Jalopnik or elsewhere, and they may give me a little cash to contribute pieces like this (with a little luck). The only reason I could do these posts in the first place was because I'm on break before my final semester of college.
Anybody who gave me encouraging or kind words I thank. In fact, I thank you very much. It made writing these a lot easier, and the thought that I could sit down and write something people actually look forward to is still a concept I am unfamiliar with. I apologize to anyone who thanked me for writing these posts and didn't get a response.
I will be backing up the final versions of these articles on my personal blog, [peterholderith.com](peterholderith.com). They will be corrected with all of the feedback you guys gave me, and I will likely add in a few stories you guys had to tell, with credit to your username. They will also have regular images instead of the annoying little formatted links I had to make when I translated the posts onto reddit. This will be done before I go back to school around the 5th, but probably sooner.
These posts may be over, but I still write the car satire site bald.tires as well. Me and the great people who write with me try to put stuff out three times a week, and we usually succeed. If you enjoyed the humor component of these articles, I suggested you either follow @_baldtires on Twitter, or just subscribe via email on the site itself. Twitter is really the best place to get updates about this sort of thing when I'm able to make it happen.
Happy Holidays,
Peter

55 boulevard Robert-Schuman

A disturbing disappearance

Nantes, boulevard Schuman, Wednesday April 13, 2011, eight days earlier. The shutters on 55 have been closed for several days. To the right of the front door, in an empty space framed by two hooks that supported a mailbox, a piece of white paper is fixed to the wall with an orange-colored tape. A typed message: “Return all mail to senders. Thank you.” Local residents have already noted these two abnormalities. Accustomed to walking past a house with shutters always open, this message intended for the postman seems very strange to them.
Located north of Nantes, this bourgeois house is adjoined with numbers 57 on its right and 53 on its left by three of its sides: facade, walls, and garden. It is in the heart of the residential district of Breil-Barberie, a rather lively area with many passing people day and night. Along Boulevard Schuman, imposing gates conceal beautiful wooded properties. In this spring of 2011, many small local shops are open – a hair salon, a sewing store, a bar where locals bet on horse races - there is a certain sweetness of life here.
At night, the scene changes under the very windows of 55: prostitutes, essentially of African origin, roam the sidewalks, looking for customers. Sometimes, this nocturnal “animation” degenerates into uproar.
On the neighboring Boulevard des Américains, Agnès Dupont de Ligonnès’ car, a Golf convertible, attracts the attention of a neighbor. The vehicle has not moved for several days, which is unusual. She testified to French radio station, RTL: “The house was closed and there was this inscription on the mailbox, ‘return to senders,’ which had intrigued me. [...] I always hoped that this house would reopen, but that didn’t happen. On Wednesday [the 13th], the postman came by, and I said to him, ‘It’s not worth putting mail at the neighbors at 55. The mailbox is closed.’ He said to me, ‘Really? I’m not surprised. They haven’t paid the recommandés (a special tax which guarantees mail delivery) for a while.’ It bothered me. I had a really bad feeling deep inside... I didn’t know why, but it made me anxious. I called the police.”

https://preview.redd.it/zc9u2hq8fwd51.jpg?width=1024&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=e7ac0ec64551f08d0ca33b7b0b34d319b260555c

Agnès de Ligonnès abandoned car
This April 13, surprising information circulates in the neighborhood and fuels conversations. Persistent rumors come back from La Perverie-Sacré-Coeur, Anne and Benoît Dupont de Ligonnès’ school located on rue de la Perverie, a little east of boulevard Schuman. Since April 4, no one at the middle school or high school had seen them. Teachers and classmates are worried about them. One of them, who had loaned his iPod to Benoît, tried to reach him by phone in order to get it back, but there was no answer. Other friends passed in front of 55 only to find the door is closed.
As for the Blanche-de-Castille Catholic school complex where Agnès works, the news is hardly more reassuring: the family has apparently left in a hurry... for Australia.

A letter of departure for the United States

Four days earlier, Saturday, April 9, a member of Agnès’ family called the police to alert them to the receipt of a very peculiar and rather alarming letter. Suffice to say the interlocutor is not taken seriously by the police station.
This person, however trustworthy, reiterates his concern the following Monday, April 11 with the Nantes magistrates. The reaction in the prosecutor’s office at TGI (Tribunal de Grande Instance) of Nantes is extremely cautious. The family member is told that the Dupont de Ligonnès couple is of age, so there is no reason to worry so much.
The content of this letter, authored by Xavier Dupont de Ligonnès, is far from commonplace:

Nantes, April 8. Hi everyone! Mega surprise: we left for the USA in an emergency, under very special conditions. It will no longer be possible for us to communicate with you otherwise (no emails, SMS, or telephone) for a few years due to security reasons.

He said he was an American spy recruited by the DEA (Drug Enforcement Administration) and infiltrated the world of French nightclubs to recover information on drug trafficking and money laundering. And continues:

With the information I have collected for seven years, I have become an essential witness in a future trial involving senior officials in the international drug trade.

According to him, this risky mission had become complicated:

For some time, there were indications that I had been spotted... The situation therefore became dangerous for us here and necessitated taking emergency measures.

He then details “the federal witness protection program, from which he and his family benefit since they are already on American soil, transferred under a new identity, which must obviously remain secret,” and insists:

The official version is that we were transferred to Australia for professional reasons without further details. It would be good to circulate this false information on Facebook and other networks. [...] They tell us that it will be possible, in a certain time, to send you information by mail: we have chosen Emmanuel [Xavier’s best friend, Ed.] as the centralizer because he has the advantage of knowing just about everyone. He will receive the letters to communicate to you. He will receive instructions in due course.

“The house key is hidden outside in the EDF counter, which opens with anything (car key, screwdriver, knife),” adds Xavier Dupont de Ligonnès, alias XDDL, to allow his relatives to carry out the tasks he entrusts to them. The father of the family indeed gives instructions to everyone: sell certain furniture and cars, organize the inventory of fixtures before May 31… These are all elements that are not carefully examined by the investigators at that time.
The main message, though it is extraordinarily bizarre, is pretty clear: the father of the family says he is a spy in danger. Thanks to the American government, he was able to shelter his family in the United States. The letter ends thus:

We will have so much to tell you later! The hard part will be getting used to our new names!

The \"Letter to Nine\" sent by XDDL
By Wednesday, April 13, the police are already aware of this letter. They met with the director of La Perverie in the morning, who informed them of the letter they received that announced a departure after an emergency transfer to Australia - the “official version therefore.”
The manager of the Pizza Tempo pizzeria, a few meters from the family home, indicates that he too received a handwritten letter dated April 4, signed by Arthur, the eldest son and a casual employee in his business. In his letter, the young man says he can no longer “continue to perform his duties.” He “submits his resignation and renounces all compensation and any salary… following the transfer of his father to Australia.” This must be the reason why Arthur did not come to collect his pay as he usually did every month.
The announcement of this sudden departure on the other side of the world leaves the manager perplexed. This feeling is widely shared by the professional and personal entourage of the family.
This accumulation of testimony prompted investigators to search the unoccupied house at 55 boulevard Schuman for the first time. The visit takes place that day at 2:45 p.m. Brigadier-in-Chief, Michel M., notes that the shutters are closed. He calls on the fire brigade to enter the house. The residence is well ventilated. The electricity is still working. The accommodation is still furnished. Upstairs, the presence of suitcases suggests a hasty departure. Nothing else to report.
A second police visit is scheduled for 3:00 p.m. on Friday, April 15, 2011. Brigadier-in-Chief Michel B. arrives at the entrance to 55. He contacts one of the neighbors, Dr. Alain P., and asks to pass through his adjoining garden in order to reach that of the Dupont de Ligonnès by means of a ladder. From the back of the house, the policeman walks on the yard, crosses it, access the terrace, and then enters the kitchen.
On a buffet, they find medical equipment, car keys, and registration cards. The latter correspond to those of a Citroën Xantia and a Golf. The policeman also comes across a hand-scribbled note:

Sorry, we didn’t have time to bring the bags of shoes to the Red Cross. It’s not far. Just put them next to the garment containers. See attached map.

The state of the home seemed to support the story of a speedy departure.
There is also a Finaref bank document and underneath a key a post-it that reads: “Keys to the cellar.” The investigator seizes the key and goes down to visit this place under the terrace. During this second visit, like the previous one, nothing seemed abnormal.
The investigation continues, and it will see a clear evolution in the following hours. Around 5 p.m., the Nantes public prosecutor’s office asked the police to investigate the Family Allowance Fund and wished to know the geolocation of the Dupont de Ligonnès couple’s mobile phones. Also, the two names of Xavier and Agnès Dupont de Ligonnès are entered in the National Register of wanted persons.
At the same time, a Nantes police officer takes his phone and calls the two cellphones belonging to Agnès and Xavier Dupont de Ligonnès. Each time, the investigator finds the calls go straight to voicemail without ringing. On the two lines, the policeman leaves a message with his name, his rank, his contact details, as well as the reason for his call, requesting to be contacted as soon as possible.
Shortly before 6 p.m., the investigators are once again informed of the “American track” by a couple of Nantes friends, Raymond and Nathalie K., who are also recipients of the “confidential” letter written by Xavier Dupont de Ligonnès. Mrs. K. takes the initiative to call the police. She understands that her friends have gone abroad and wants to reassure the police... who do not need any additional information, they already know the exact content of this letter.
On Saturday, April 16, 2011, at 10:30 a.m., Nathalie K. was nevertheless summoned and heard by the police. She explains, this time orally, that she received this letter on April 9. Then she revealed being a friend of the Dupont de Ligonnès family. She has not seen Agnès since March 29. A detail: her son Philippe, also a friend of Thomas Dupont de Ligonnès, chatted last Sunday (April 10) on the porch of 55 with a friend of XDDL named Emmanuel. She describes the man as also upset by the sudden departure of the whole family from abroad.
At the end of this interview, the police proceed in sequence: they first meet one of Xavier’s sisters, Christine Dupont de Ligonnès, as well as his mother, Geneviève, who share an apartment in Versailles. They ask for confirmation that this letter has been received. After a period of so-called “emotional” wait time, they respond in the affirmative. This letter is also accompanied by a personalized note signed by Xavier.
The police then call the other sister of XDDL: Véronique. She is in the Republic of Congo, where she lives part of the year. She does not believe in the contents of this mailing at all, but she does not show concern.
Among the other recipients of the letter is a key person, whom the investigators summon to their office: Emmanuel T., appointed by Xavier Dupont de Ligonnès himself as the “centralizer.”
The interview is directed by Anne-Sophie R., the same policewoman who will be the impetus for the discovery of the bodies on April 21. The testimony of the missing father’s best friend is rich in new information. He explains that he discovered this famous mail in the mailbox of his Nantes home, placed in an unstamped envelope, on Saturday, April 9 around noon. “Yes, I believed this letter… or more precisely, in hindsight, wanted to believe it,” admits Emmanuel.
This missive is also accompanied by two small personalized notes signed Xavier. On the first, we read affectionate words... and precise instructions:

My old friend, we are going to spend time (for the first time in 37 years) a few years without seeing each other or calling or writing back and forth: it’s going to be weird! Will have to get used to it! I’ll let you take care of a small “administrative” part, once Cédric has done the “manual” part. Everyone has their own domain! LOL. There may be no deposit to recover because the rent for April will surely not be taken. We have withdrawn the max on Agnès’ account before leaving. As for the files in progress (debts that you know about, no more worries. Everything will fall into the water…) LOL Stay there until I come back. I need you. I was not in Savoy this week, but in Paris with the Americans. I came home at night, and we only had one day to pack up and start emptying the house! Hot! Warn Ben that we will not come to make the baptism of shooting planned on the 9. I kiss you very hard. Xav.

Then a second note:

Emmanuel, here are the different files. […] Thank you for taking care of all of this [the termination of various subscriptions and the return of medical equipment used by Agnès for sleep apnea, Ed]. When Cédric and his friends have emptied the house, could you find a cleaning lady? I have left 50 euros in an envelope to pay for it. It is not a matter of cleaning thoroughly but of vacuuming each room.

Emmanuel T. goes immediately to 55 on Saturday, April 9, and notes that the sets of keys to the house are not yet deposited in the hiding place indicated by Xavier in his letter. In the utility meter box, a new handwritten note mentions that the keys will be placed there overnight.
On Sunday, April 10 at 5 p.m., Emmanuel T. returns to the scene. The keys to the house are there. They are accompanied by another note, this time type-written: “Some keys do not work well. You have to wiggle them to open the door. Always leave a set of keys in the hiding place so that others can enter.” He meets Nathalie K.’s son, Philippe, in front of the house, and they chat for a few seconds.
Emmanuel then explains to the police: “I entered the house, but I was afraid of a family drama. His DEA story seemed unimaginable to me. I inspected the house. I didn’t see any damage.” Then he adds: “I returned on Monday, April 11 with Cédric M. I had just got the note that Xavier sent me, asking me to get a housekeeper and ensure the inventory of fixtures. […] I had a house key. I had other keys to my home that I did not want to leave in the EDF meter.”
Sunday, April 17, 2011. Investigators spread their investigations in all directions. Thus, a decision was made to contact the Urssaf (the French distribution system for Social Security benefits); the medical community was also contacted on this day to find out if members of the family could have been the subject of any psychiatric consultations. In another arm of the investigation, two requisitions are ordered from a telephone company to list all the terminals activated by the mobile phones of Xavier and Agnès Dupont de Ligonnès since April 1.
Monday, April 18. The news of the family’s disappearance begins to spread in the city of Nantes, even if the news of the day is more marked by a completely different matter: the arrests of a sect of Saint-Brévin guru and his partner, indicted for rape and sexual assault during a meeting with two of their disciples.
Local journalists are starting to take a closer look at the Dupont de Ligonnès family. They are conducting the very first neighborhood interviews. Meanwhile, the police have been investigating all of the family’s financial movements since April 3, questioning each of the banking establishments where the accounts are open.

A gun in inheritance

At noon, Mathieu Fohlen, deputy public prosecutor, orders the Nantes judicial police to carry out a new visit to 55. They are charged with retrieving photographs of the family members and, above all, a gun! Investigators know now that Xavier Dupont de Ligonnès has a weapon. It is a Unique brand 22 semi-automatic long rifle, which he inherited from his father, who died less than three months previously on January 20, 2011.
This third search lasts an hour and a quarter, between 4:30 p.m. and 5:45 p.m. very precisely. It takes place with the same neighbor doctor as a witness. But, this time, the investigators do not need to call the firemen to enter the house: Emmanuel T., Xavier’s friend, gave them a set of keys.
Two policewomen, Nathalie P. and Anne-Sophie R., carry out meticulous inspection work. Each detail could be crucial. Everything is documented and video-recorded with precision: garbage bags full of shoes, an empty fridge, the presence of a few jars of jam, a tidy dishwasher… On the kitchen floor, they note the presence of a still damp mop and a bottle of cleansing agent placed on the table next to the cellar key. They notice that a map of France is taped to a wall. Cities are circled with felt-tip pen: La Rochelle, Nice, Tarbes, Pau, Auxerre, Aix, Perpignan.

A bottle of Ajax, three-quarters full, is noted on the kitchen counter.
In the living room, an intact chess set sits on a trunk acting as a table. On the sofas, three guitars are stored in their cases. Empty photo frames are scattered on the ground.
The two women go up to the second floor. In the master bedroom, two single beds devoid of sheets are pushed together. A collection of music occupies a large part of the room. In the other bedrooms, the mattresses are also bare - no more sheets or quilts. They notice the presence of a brownish spot on the mattress of one of the children’s beds.
The inspectors backtrack and return to a detail already noted in the kitchen. They state: “The mop is wet with cleanser.”
A mop that is still damp is noted in the kitchen during the third search of the house
They then head out onto the terrace and descend into the yard. “The ground is dirt. Let’s go back to the terrace where we have to bend in half to access the cellar where boxes are stored.” These twenty boxes are filled with bundles of “Crystal” scratch tickets from Xavier’s business.
This third visit does not fulfill its objective: we still have no news of the missing family, and the police have found neither photos nor weapons.
Tuesday April 19, 2011. A new interview of Emmanuel T., around is scheduled for 11 a.m. The latter came to return the last 55 key that he had in his possession- he handed over two more the previous weekend. Cédric M. also has two. A total of five keys will therefore be entered into evidence.
Then, in answering the investigators’ questions, Emmanuel T. made a disturbing revelation: “During our visit to Xavier’s, Monday, April 11 between 4 and 4:30 p.m., Cédric and I went out in the yard. I took a half-opened bottle of Frontignan from the fridge and poured a glass of it, which I left on the terrace table. Cédric told me that he had forgotten his cigarettes.” What an amazing vision of two friends smoking and drinking only a few meters above the two graves where the bodies will be discovered!
Also on April 19, the police gathered elements relating to the family’s heritage. Research is being done to find out if Xavier Dupont de Ligonnès has a boat location along the Erdre River in Nantes. Information is taken from the harbor office of Nantes Métropole. The police have, for the first time, access to the list of the family’s bank accounts, which has just been sent to them. Xavier, personally or professionally, and Agnès have opened numerous accounts in several establishments. And they’re all in the red right now…
The two Labradors of the Dupont de Ligonnès family did not escape the investigators either. Research is being carried out to find out whether the Humane Society has recently taken charge of two new dogs. But they come to nothing: no trace of Jules and Léon, even in the smallest kennel of the Nantes region.

The trigger

Wednesday, April 20, 2011. The family has been actively sought for a week now, and the Nantes press is putting pressure on the floor of the TGI of Nantes. To respond to journalists’ requests, Xavier Ronsin, prosecutor, decides to schedule a press conference at the courthouse for 10:30 a.m. the next day.
But what will the he be able to say in concrete terms? Can he make public the various letters received and present the proposed scenarios, including that of a spy of French nationality working on behalf the US government in the context of international drug trafficking exfiltrated by the United States to a federal witness protection program? One can imagine how perplexing this must have been for the prosecutor. Within the TGI, we understand that it is especially important to highlight the investigation, mainly within the house.
Thus, a fourth home visit is made. This time, it takes place at 10 a.m. in the presence of a magistrate, Mathieu Fohlen. He is accompanied by some investigators from the PJ, including Anne-Sophie R., who has already entered the home twice. Despite the precise description made two days earlier on April 18, they decided to start again from scratch.
What did the magistrate and the police note on April 20? “The general appearance of the house gives the impression of a hasty departure.” They discover a Fichet brand safe key. Several objects and documents are placed under seal, including papers linked to other telephone subscriptions.
In the dishwasher, there are six large and three small plates, cups, and bowls. Everything is clean. The presence of a three-quarter full bottle of a yellow Ajax brand cleanser is noted in the kitchen as is a red cleaning bucket on the ground containing flexible broom that is still wet.
On the refrigerator, there is a telephone number scribbled of someone named D., located in Spain. On the table is a big, old-looking key to the cellar.
The decision was made to sweep the kitchen with Crimescope and Bluestar. These two products are often used in criminal cases to detect traces of blood. The Crimescope is a powerful projector capable of producing very pure lights of varying colors. It is used in grazing white light to look for fibers or hair or, in blue light projected perpendicular on the ground, for traces of DNA (blood, sperm, saliva...).
Bluestar, on the other hand, reveals traces of blood that has been washed, erased, or invisible to the naked eye, but it does not alter the DNA of the blood revealed. The Bluestar reacts positively on the entire tiled kitchen floor, on the broom, and inside the bucket. For the investigators, this reaction should be taken with caution because the Bluestar occasionally gives a false positive.
On a light wooden chair and on a table leg, ten brownish stains, which appear to have been wiped off and could be blood, are also noted. They have an average diameter of half a centimeter.
On a mattress, in one of the bedrooms, a very old blood stain, dry and odorless, is also noted – probably from a nosebleed.
Room after room, the police collect as much information as possible: toothbrushes and razors from the bathroom are placed under seal along with a glass found on a dresser in a bedroom.
Investigators are now able to identify the names of the occupants of the five bedrooms. On the first floor, the bedroom opposite the narrow staircase is that of Arthur; the one on the right, next to the bathroom, is occupied by Anne. On the second floor, the room opposite the staircase is attributed to Thomas; the one on the right, to Benoît. The last is the parents’ bedroom.
The investigators ended their search by searching one of the couple’s cars, which was parked nearby. In the glove compartment, they find the trace of an old bank document concerning Arthur, but this paper does not present anything of interest.
On the other hand, the attention of the investigators focuses on the father’s professional life. They learn that he manages a company, SelRef, based in Pornic, a coastal town 30 miles from Nantes. On site, they go to the obvious: the company appears to be no more than a post office box, and yet Xavier Dupont de Ligonnès, they discover, has not set foot at this address since 2003 or 2004. As for the company’s mail, it has been redirected to 55 boulevard Schuman.
Interviews of relatives are also scheduled, including that of Raymond K., the husband of Nathalie K., already heard on April 16. But nothing particularly important emerges from this mid-afternoon interview.
A few minutes later, at around 4:40 p.m., however, significant information reached the police: the requested report of bank transactions pointed to purchases and expenses made by Xavier Dupont de Ligonnès over the past few days. This information from the banks delivers vital clues: one of the bank cards was used recently to purchase trash bags, adhesive tape, quick cement, and lime. These purchases were made in multiple stores in the suburbs of Nantes. In addition, a card was used to pay a hotel bill in Vaucluse on April 13, and a cash withdrawal of 30 euros was made in the Var, on April 14.
On April 20, the Nantes prosecutor announces the opening of an investigation for a “disturbing disappearance.” Then, a new home visit is scheduled for the 21st. These purchases are disturbing, especially that of lime. It is this last element that will trigger excavations under the terrace because the police know that quicklime is often used for the burial of corpses…

Beginning of criminal investigation

Nantes police station, Thursday April 21, 11:50 a.m.
At the very moment when the forensics team in white coats are busy digging up the first body - and avoiding the contamination of the “frozen” - their colleagues from the judicial branch continue their investigations. Since 10:30 a.m., they are no longer working on a disappearance, but on a crime.
All the steps are taken precisely and methodically.
They immediately interviewed Cédric M., a friend of Xavier’s, a recipient of one of the seven letters sent to relatives, and who entered inside the house ten days earlier with Emmanuel. A garage owner in Morbihan, Cédric very simply recounts what he did on April 11 around 4 p.m. He made the complete tour of Xavier’s house while Emmanuel did not want to go upstairs. He did indeed forget a pack of cigarettes on a table and confirms that Xavier Dupont de Ligonnès had asked him to empty the house.
Then Cédric M., quite spontaneously, threw to the investigators that upon arriving to the station, he heard on Radio France and on RTL that bones had been found in the garden. For him, it is just sensationalist media: “People eat up this crap! They must have been bones that the dogs buried...”
Even if research is now launched all over the region, the Nantes police are concentrating on interviewing “key witnesses.” They want to collect as many pieces of the criminal puzzle as they can. All bank traces received the day before are carefully analyzed. Agnès’ account cards also: a purchase on April 5 at 8 p.m. at a Carrefour Market route de Vannes; a withdrawal of 300 euros on April 7at 4:24 p.m., and a card payment in the amount of 166 euros on April 12 at 6:44 p.m. at the Auberge de Cassagne in Pontet in the Vaucluse.
These scattered elements arrive en masse at the Nantes police station shortly before noon on April 21, just as the extraction of the first body is taking place under the terrace of 55.
Emmanuel T., the best friend of the father who cannot be found, is interviewed a third time. This 51-year-old Dunkerquois without a professional occupation worked until 2009 as a sales manager in industrial cuisine with the Great West company. He knew Xavier Dupont de Ligonnès since the age of 13 or 14 in 1974. With Xavier and another mutual friend, Michel R., who lives near Montpellier, they left for the United States together in the 1980s.
Emmanuel T. insisted on the United States, and in particular on Florida, a state that attracted Xavier enormously. Then, answering the questions, he recalls without going into much detail the extramarital affairs that his friend had confided to him. He reveals that Xavier had affairs with two women named Catherine, one living in Ile-de-France, the other in Savoy.
Then, he confirms that Xavier had just received a letter from the court and asked if it was possible to redirect his mail to Emmanuel’s home, which he agreed to. During the discussion with the investigators, Emmanuel T., whom we imagine is disturbed by this new interview, remembers: “Xavier told me without joking that with the financial difficulties he encountered he could envision “taking the whole family into a definitive solution.”
Emmanuel knows his friend’s financial difficulties. He knows that Xavier owes a lot of money and is unable to repay. Emmanuel says he has already loaned him between 5,000 and 6,000 euros himself. Then, he adds this last disturbing element: just like Michel R., their mutual friend, he received an email with the photo of the Statue of Liberty in the United States with no other indication than this one: “We permanently cease all communication.”
Friday April 22, 2011. Who better than his best friends to know Xavier Dupont de Ligonnès? On this day of the autopsy of the bodies, around 11 a.m., the investigators received a call from Michel R., another one of the recipients of Xavier’s letter referring to his departure for the United States.
Michel R. is not just a simple collaborator of Xavier within La Route des Commercieaux, one of his activities; he is a close friend with whom the wanted father shared many good times. They have known each other for over thirty years.
Michel R. spontaneously explains to the investigators that he spoke with his friend, Xavier, on April 7. He also sent photos on the 5th, dating from a trip they had made together in the United States in the 1980s. He indicated that like Emmanuel T., he had recently received via the Internet a photo of the Statue of Liberty accompanied by this note: “We are definitively ceasing all communication.” Then Michel R. in turn confirms that his friend Xavier is a highly intelligent man. Thus, he considers that during his descent into the South, his friend must have voluntarily used the bank card to locate him, while he had taken care to no longer use the Internet, his cell phone, nor those of his family.
The police know that Michel R. and Emmanuel T. have spoken on the phone many times since they received Xavier’s letter of departure.
Armed with this information, Emmanuel T. was heard again at the beginning of the afternoon. The objective of the investigators is to deepen certain points, in particular on a weapon in Xavier’s possession.
They get the confirmation. “Yes, he inherited from his father a 22 long rifle. Xavier used this weapon to shoot target-practice at a balloon in his back yard. In order to avoid making noise and not to annoy the neighbors, Xavier had purchased a silencer.” The investigation confirms this: Xavier was shooting at the Jonelière stand in Nantes with his best friend Emmanuel. “The last time I saw him was at the shooting range on April 1 around 6 to 6.30 p.m., and with Agnès, it was March 11 at the Nantes restaurant, La Belle Équipe.”
The police are convinced of this: Emmanuel T. knows a lot… They continue the investigation by organizing a search of his home. It takes place between noon and 2 p.m., rue Lavoisière. The neighbors did not fail to notice this police presence. The investigators go directly to the third floor and thoroughly search the F2 apartment where Emmanuel T. resides. They also opened his personal safe, which contained a small wad of bills, his shooting license, and personal papers. They learned that Emmanuel T. owns a 357 Magnum Smith & Wesson revolver. The police will leave with a laptop and a mini-pc under their arm, but also with a file seized from the trunk of his Renault Laguna. This file, forty-four sheets thick, belongs to one of Xavier’s “conquests.” “It was Xavier who asked me to keep this document, which I did,” explains Emmanuel, upset, thinking about his 30-year-old friendship with his mate, Xavier. “I can imagine everything: suicide, hit man…” In this file, confidential documents reveal the existence of a financial conflict between Xavier Dupont de Ligonnès and one of his mistresses.
On April 22, interviews are increasing in Nantes, but also throughout the region. Everyone wants to bring their piece to the puzzle taking shape around this complex matter. Elements, more or less verifiable, are provided on all subjects. Here are four examples, among the dozens of testimonies that have been collected:

Frédéric L., Benoît’s godfather, spontaneously goes to the police station in Arles, where he resides, to explain that he did not see Xavier Dupont de Ligonnès for a long time and that Xavier has a lot of contacts in the United States.
At 12 o’clock, a neighbor of the boulevard Schuman remembers that one night, between midnight and 2 a.m., he heard ten detonations at an extraordinarily regular rate. But this witness no longer remembers the precise date of these shots...
At 3 p.m., a close relative of the family comes to Nanterre and supports two points hitherto unknown to the investigators: Xavier Dupont de Ligonnès’ mistress would be called Claudia, and XDDL would also be an alcoholic.
At 4:45 p.m., a gunsmith from Nantes remember perfectly that two months early, the father of the family, Xavier Dupont de Ligonnès, called himself “sniper priest” (!), and explained that his family was in danger of death. He wanted to buy a handgun to defend himself from a big burly person that threatened him...

Anyway, the investigators will learn that Xavier Dupont de Ligonnès bought a silencer for his 22 long rifle and on March 12, 2011 and ammunition in another armory located in the city center of Nantes.
The police send all this information and considerations, however surprising they may be, to the TGI of Nantes in charge of sorting them out.
On April 23, Xavier Ronsin again appeared before the press and declared “We can now speak of a methodical execution of Agnès Dupont de Ligonnès and her four children. Research has established that Xavier Dupont de Ligonnès had recently inherited a rifle from his father. The pursuit of his investigation and his testimony are obviously essential to precisely determine the causes of these five deaths.”

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I'm so stuck . I need serious help to narrow down my shortlist for business names. I'm ready to start tearing my hair out and kind of want to stop flooding my own feed with horsey stuff for the sake of my non horsey friends. I'm in Australia if that makes any difference.
The shortlist so far:
Silver Birch Breezy Hill Willow Creek Clover Hill
Ones that didn't quite make the cut but may still be considered:
Red Fox Fox Hill Stony Hill Lost River Grassroots Big Oak
Add to the end of any of whatever I use something like Equine, maybe Lodge, Park, Stables ect. I want a name with a broad definition, hence why I haven't just opted for "my name racing" or "blah blah breaking and training". I want something I can create a logo around, as well as a freeze brand design and racing colours.
. . .
Logic behind the names listed:
Silver Birch. I love these damn trees, I spent most of my childhood playing with the bark and seeds, and falling out of them. Plus the celtic symbolism of the tree for bringing luck to new beginnings is a nice thought. My bf doesn't like it because I looks like Silver Bitch
Breezy Hill I landed on because it sounded nice. Kind of fits with the racehorses breezing up. My mum hates it because she hates riding in the wind, at least it's not tornado mountain.
Willow Creek. Our family homestead property is called Willowbank, and my dad just bought another property at a place called Willow Tree. If it weren't for the property name, I would have been called Willow, but mum thought it was too much haha. They're beautiful trees, but the downside is, that willows are noxious weeds here, and my best friend thinks it sounds like a cold case murder.
Clover Hill. I love the sound of it, I love the idea of a clover leaf brand but not much meaning beyond that. I lived and worked in Ireland for a while, it's my second home so that symbolism is nice but kind of cliche.
Fox names suggested by mum because I have so many fox things in my house, I love them but not sure if the name is too cliche.
Stony Hill is the name of a hill behind the house on our family property that I will potentially move in to in the next 5 years
Lost River is a tributary that joins the Wheeo Creek on our property, just below the above mentioned house.
Grassroots has a cool sound to it, and fits very well with my philosophy on back to basics and teaching horses to be horses again. My sister doesn't like it because of the grassroots "beginner" cutting comps.
Big Oak is just cool because I'd like an acorn brand. And the new property up at Willow Tree is named Big Oaky, my sister is moving up to manage it.
. . .
Some extra info for anyone that's still reading and wants to know: I break in, am heavily involved in racing and am finally coming back to comps after a 6 year hiatus (uni, full time work etc.) I am in the process of applying for my racehorse trainers license
I am fairly well rounded as a horse person; I grew up working stock on horseback with my dad and grandfather (on mum's side) my mother has brought on her own grand prix horse, who had to be put down due to a paddock injury, then her advanced horse was diagnosed with navicular and she's now bringing on a young mare. My sister is has worked with cutting horses and I competed in eventing and managed an eventing yard in Ireland. I worked in South Africa with one of their top dressage riders.
I bring on a lot of otts, the non profitable way. Even if I have plans for a quick flip, I normally have a horse no less than 10 months but I make sure that they have all the tools they need to be successful going forwards. I'm a big believer in letting them know how to be horses again. I get teeth done, pull shoes off and tip them into big shared paddocks with hills, dams, trees, rocks, sheep, cattle and wildlife, let them get a bit of proprioception and awareness of the world around them.
There's a lot of waffle in there, but thanks in advance to anyone that can help me make up my mind!

This is the first year of my adult life in which I haven't been working crazy night shifts or studying full time. At the end of 2018, I decided to make time in the coming year to read 52 books of my own choosing, purely for pleasure. I've always loved reading, but as an adult I often forgot to prioritise reading for pleasure. Today, I realised I've actually read 62 books since the 1st of January. Here they are, with short reviews. (Also, I'm no expert at reviewing books, so if you have any tips for me they'd be much appreciated!)

I woke at 5.30am to read in silence in an armchair in the corner of my lounge room, under blankets with the light on. I listened to audio books while I drove a long, straight highway between two towns in the middle of nowhere. I got home from work, kicked off my shoes, made a cup of tea and swung in my hammock, pausing between paragraphs to throw a ball for my doggo. It's been very relaxing and rewarding and I'm planning to do this again in 2020!

The problem is, I've been reading alone all year, and now I'm dying to talk about these fabulous stories! If you've read anything here and liked it, or disliked it, please share your thoughts- I'd love to know what and why.

I'm writing my must-read list for 2020 at the moment, so if anything you read here jumps out at you and you think of a recommendation, please throw it at me in the comments!

a closed and common orbit by becky chambers. I received the first of this trilogy for Christmas, 2019, and quickly fell through the final two books. They are quirky, space-soapy and read like a television series, each chapter an episode, characters developed neatly and one at a time. Think Firefly, but with overwhelming positivity and a deep faith in the humanity of our human future. 4/5
record of a spaceborn few by becky chambers. The final book in the (loosely connected) trilogy. Sex positive, human and non-human positive. Big thoughts about death and dying and conservation for a common future neatly packaged in small, entertaining chapters. 4/5
Equal Rites by Terry Pratchett. Somehow the complete opposite of those folks over at menwritingwomen. I love the way these witches choose to do the right thing, and often fail. Can’t go past a great Pratchett. This isn’t my favourite (my heart belongs to Tiffany Aching and the Wee Free), but it’s right up there. 4/5
The Immortalists by Chloe Benjamin. I read this laying on my friends couch on the south coast of Australia, keeping half an eye on her toddler while she provided the other 1.5. It’s an easy read, weird, nice to wander in and out of. I enjoyed it, particularly the structure with changing points of view. I found the last perspective and the ending a little jarring, but still, strong commentary on death and fate. 3/5
The Arsonist: A Mind on Fire by Chloe Hooper. Non-Fiction. This was a ripper of a read. It covers the absolutely devastating impacts of the Black Saturday bushfires in Victoria’s Latrobe Valley. The investigation into the cause of the fire, and the humane, empathic conclusions shared by Hooper juxtapose sharply with the irrevocable terror and damage caused by the arsonist’s actions. **5/5**
Can’t Hurt Me by David Goggins. Autobiography. This guy is nuts. He has a huge and unusual personality and a life story to match. I listened to the audio for this one and I would recommend that mode. A good story that left me scratching my head at several points at the sheer difference of this guy’s brain to my bookworm grey matter. 3/5
The Binding by Bridgette Collins. A fantastical investigation into love, taboo and power. I found this well-written and intriguing, but none of the characters particularly got under my skin. 3/5
The Natural Way of Things by Charlotte Wood. I probably don’t need to rave about this here, or do I? Twelve women find themselves imprisoned on a remote farm in the Australian outback, corralled by the orders of men from their pasts who are fearful of their voices. The story unfurls into darkness, a warped mirror of the twisted corners of contemporary feminism and misogyny. In the era of #MeToo and new truth, this is a must read. Highly, highly recommend. 5/5
Lullaby by Leila Slimani. Original in French, English translation by Sam Taylor. I read this in one long sitting, starting early in the morning and finishing late at night. It is neat and haunting, a thriller that is too tightly woven to give you space to put it down. 4/5
Secret Letters From 0 to 10 by Susie Morgenstern. Original in French, translated by Gill Rosner. For me this was a re-read of a childhood favourite, which can sometimes disappoint. Not Morgenstern though. It’s full of an adult kind of whimsy which I missed as a kid. A sweet little junior romance story about families and love lost and found. 4/5
Problems With People by David Guterson. I read this due to a longstanding love of Snow Falling on Cedars. These short stories were enjoyable, and I read one per sitting, but I missed the pacing and suspense of his longer form work. 3/5
Mort by Terry Pratchett. A new favourite Pratchett. How could I not fall head over heels for Mort, a gangly red-head recruited by Death as his apprentice? I marvel at Pratchett’s light touch and the way entire lives are sold to us, fully wrapped and ready to be bought into, in a single scene. A scene in which a young boy comes bringing the end of life, for example. 5/5
Dingo: The Story of Our Mob by Sally Dingo. Written by Yamaji entertainer Ernie Dingo’s non-Indigenous (white Tasmanian) wife Sally, this book was both highly informative and entertaining read. Because Sally grew up an outsider to Yamaji culture, the way she describes customs and way of life made a lot of sense to me (another white Australian). I found this an incredible insight into one of the oldest continuing culture’s on Earth, and I appreciated the way cultural aspects were described in a way that I could understand. The stories here you won’t find in an encyclopaedia, textbook, history book or government publication. 5/5
Too Much Lip by Melissa Lucashenko. Lucashenko has Bundjalung and European heritage and this book is written both English and Aboriginal English. It’s a rollicking family drama and romance, super readable and winner of the Miles Franklin 2019. The protagonist Kerry and the book itself have enormous personalities. I really enjoyed. 4/5
The Bridge by Enza Gandolfo. This one really stuck with me, lodged somewhere deep. Two parallel storylines run forty years apart and equally gripping. The first delves deep into the aftermath of the Melbourne West Gate Bridge collapse (killed thirty-five workers, helped to birth a strong union movement in Australia) and the second, the aftermath of a modern young woman’s poor decision making. I couldn’t put this book down. It’s rich in historical details, in the migrant culture of the Bridge workers and in the way this culture has shaped modern Australia. Based in truth, extremely powerful, highly recommend. 5/5
Unsheltered by Barbara Kingsolver. This wasn’t as polished or as complex as some of Kingsolver’s other work. I felt it was like a colouring in, partly completed, in comparison to the richness of character and setting in Poisonwood Bible and Pigs in Heaven. The book was clearly a personal response to modern issues, and the dialogue between an aging, working mother and her young and reckless daughter hit home in terms of generational gap and what it is that contemporary youth allow themselves to expect from later life. The dual narrative with 1860s Mary Treat is slightly less compelling, but the relinquishing of shelter in exchange for freedom is a neat and subtle echo between both storylines. 3/5
The Rapids by Sam Twyford Moore. An analysis of bipolar disorder, mostly written in a manic episode. This book and its writing style taught me a lot about the issue. Fascinating, but not a mainstream or straightforward read. Rambling and wild, referencing every man, woman, and their dogs. 3/5
The Editor by Steven Rowley. A rom-com but a novel. I read it in 1-2 sittings, as though as I were watching a movie, and it was okay. Kind of meta, but nothing special. 2/5
kaddish.com by Nathan Englander. Weird as heck, excellently well written. A son hires a stranger from the internet to say kaddish for his dead father… or does he? The decision comes back to haunt him. The downside for me was that I didn’t love any of the characters. 3/5
Other People’s Country by Maureen Helen. Non-fiction. In later life, Helen signs up to be a Remote Area Nurse for the Martu people of Jigalong. This book was published in 2008, and her experience was in 1990. I felt that she gave a strong depiction of culture shock and the life-changing nature of her experiences. In a few places I thought perhaps that Helen veered towards culturally inappropriate value judgements, but at the same time I could understand why- what a completely alien experience it was for her. Overall, a very informative and interesting, easy-to-read book. 4/5
Cleared Out by Sue Davenport, Peter Johnson and Yuwali. Patrol officers were instructed to ‘clear out’ the Western Desert in 1964 so that rockets fired from Woomera wouldn’t kill the traditional owners. For Yuwali and her family, this was their first, terrifying contact with Europeans. An incredible read. 5/5
Typhoon Kingdom by Matthew Hooton. Historical fiction. A dual narrative exploring the journal of a seventeenth century shipwrecked Dutch sailor and the experiences of Korean ‘Comfort Women’ during the Korean War. Well-written, very dark. I’m not sure why I didn’t love this book- I think my character investment was low. 2/5
Things in Jars by Jess Kidd. 1800s detective story story set in London. I loved the usual romance with a handsome boxing ghost. Weird and wonderful and very readable. 3/5
Dog Ear Cafe: How the Mt Theo Program Beat the Curse of Petrol Sniffing by Andrew Stojanovski. I wish everyone could read this book. A white guy heads up to Yuendumu and works with the community to put in place culturally appropriate intervention for the sniffing kids. Well-written, considerate and considered and very eye-opening. 5/5
Follow The Rabbit-Proof Fence by Doris Pilkington and Nugi Garimara. This is an adventure epic. I’d never read it before or seen the movie and holy heck. 2 little girls walk 1600 kilometres to get home to their family in Jigalong after being stolen and taken to Moore River. Incredible story. 4/5
Talking To My Country by Stan Grant. I’m not sure why I couldn’t get in to this one. Grant’s personal musings on race and culture in Australia. It just didn’t quite capture me as other books on this topic have. Perhaps too broad in scope rather than following individual stories and lives? 2/5
Love For Imperfect Things: How to Accept Yourself in a World Striving for Perfection by Haemin Sunim. A bit self-helpy, a bit biography, very philosophical. My favourite quote of the year came out of this book, although it’s not my favourite genre. Big world, some weirdos. 3/5
Where The Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens. A beaut novel set in the marshes of a town on the North Carolina coast, which I have never visited, but now feel that I have. Beautiful prose, lovely and realistic characters, and a satisfying ending. One of those books I felt sad to leave. 5/5
The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver. This was a re-read for me, of one of my all time favourites. Each time I revisit the story I realised how much I have changed. This time around I particularly appreciated the writing of character and setting, and the futile love of the mother in the story. Always, always 5/5
The Princess Bride by William Goldman. Another re-read of a favourite. The construction of this book is what I love: the ‘abridgement’, the ‘film adaptation’, the whimsy of the narration in the main story. A joy every time. 5/5
City Without Stories by Jakob Boyd. The only cover-to-cover poetry I read this year. Boyd is a Perth boy born and raised, and I like the idea that ‘none of my favourite bands come here, but neither will the nukes’. Overall though, the ideas and language became repetitive. 2/5
In a Great Southern Land by Mary-Anne O’Connor. This historical (Australian colonial) fiction was an easy and enjoyable read, but the writing was nothing special and I found nothing particularly unique about the characters or landscape. 2/5
Do You Dream Of Terra-Two? by Temi Oh. Science fiction involving six intensely trained eighteen year olds sent to space. More of a fascinating psychological investigation than anything else. Unique ideas and characters and very, very compelling. I felt it was a little short- I was unsatisfied by the ending, not because it was jarring but because it felt premature. 4/5
The Light We Lost by Jill Santopolo. I read this in one sitting at a library while waiting for my sister to do her shopping. Pretty average chick-lit. 2/5
Don’t Take Your Love To Town by Ruby May Ginibi. Ginibi was a Bundjalung woman who lived from 1934-2011 and had a singularly incredible life. Her writing is engaging and friendly- it’s as though you are sitting across from her, listening to her yarn. There are countless stories in here that were so unique and wonderful that I told them to all my friends and family- I can’t choose just one to write here. There were a few spots where I got lost and distracted in all the family members and found the story hard to follow, but that’s probably just my binge-reading style. 4/5
Skyward by Brandon Sanderson. A beaut little sci-fi story with some unpredictable twists. It was absolutely brought to life for me on audio by Sophie Aldred, definitely the best narrator I’ve come across so far. 4/5 (3/5 without the fantastic narration)
Storm Front [Dresden Files] by Jim Butcher. I didn’t love this at all, and I think I only finished it because I had it on audio while I drove for 5 hours without stopping. menwritingwomen please. 1/5
The Art of Growing Up by John Marsden. Marsden is the author of the Tomorrow series, and has opening two schools in Victoria. I found this a very interesting and direct missive, although bordering on overly pessimistic or judgemental and a little narrow in scope (seemed to discuss a lot of middle to upper class issues). 3/5
In Cold Blood by Truman Capote. Thanks Harper Lee for all your research assistance. This true crime story was compelling and terrifying. 5/5
Stolen by Lucy Christopher. Popular YA novel about a girl abducted and kept in the Australian desert by some creepy hot guy. I found it pretty disturbing in terms of a book for teenagers, mainly due to the excuses made for old mate kidnapper. Well written though, and very readable. 2/5
Plainsong by Kent Haruf. This book was very peaceful, written consistently with lovely pacing and kind, understated characters. 4/5
Dark Emu by Bruce Pascoe. Pascoe has gathered the journals and writing of early Europeans who explored Australia, as well as archaeological and oral histories, to counter the myth of Aboriginal Australia as a society of transient hunter-gatherers. Another book I wish everyone could read. It’s really stuck with me, especially in the midst of the fires here at the moment. 5/5
Stranger Things Happen by Kelly Link. These short stories were weird and wacky and definitely not predictable. Again though, I didn’t really connect with her characters. Maybe short story just isn’t my genre. 2/5
The Prettiest Horse in the Glue Factory by Corey White. White is a comedian who grew up in the foster care system in Australia. This book is dark and painful and very funny. It’s another one I can’t stop thinking about, and it’s really altered my understanding of the impacts of troubled childhoods. 5/5
Voices in the Night by Steven Milhauser. Another short story book that I didn’t love, despite the quality of writing. 2/5
The Ride of a Lifetime by Bob Iger. Non-Fiction memoir by the current CEO of Disney… This was a very interesting read, but he was planning to run for US president and it felt a bit like a long advertisement for what a good person he was. He kept backing away from the juicy bits. 3/5 mainly for interesting content.
Dare To Lead by Brené Browne. I don’t know why I read this. I hate self-help and particularly ones with made up words in it and all the stories only about a self-help company and not even the real world. 2/5
The Trauma Cleaner by Sarah Krasnostein. An intense and gritty exploration of the life of Sandra Pankhurst, a trauma cleaner with a hectic story. Very readable, confronting and ultimately humanising. 4/5
Three Women by Sarah Taddeo. If you haven’t heard of this, you probably haven’t read down this far anyway! Wow. 5/5
State of the Union by Nick Hornby. Very short, comedic chapters centring around the meeting of a separated husband and wife in a bar before they go in to marriage counselling each week. A cute and enjoyable read. 3/5
Hons and Rebels by Jessica Mitford. This is written by one of the Mitford sisters. I didn’t know who they were, and the completely true story is utterly wild, involving Hitler, sisters who become fascists and communists, and a random stint of bartending in the US. A great read! 4/5
The Dry by Jane Harper. A tightly wound murder mystery taking place in a very Australian setting. I read it in one sitting, although this isn’t my usual genre. 4/5
The Secret Commonwealth by Phillip Pullman. I love how Pullman doesn’t celebrate innocence, but ageing and the damage and wisdom that come from trauma. Adult Lyra is more loveable than the little girl from His Dark Materials, and much, much more broken. 4/5
The Lost Man by Jane Harper. Another great Australian mystery. 4/5
Force of Nature by Jane Harper. A group of women go hiking in the Australian bush. One doesn’t return. A gripping story with a realistic setting. Again, not my favourite genre. 4/5
Soulless: The Case Against R. Kelly by Jim DeRogatis. I had somehow missed 99% of the R. Kelly saga, which made this in depth look triply shocking. Disgusting man and story, fantastic journalism. 4/5
An Awesome Ride by by Graeme Leslie Brosnan and Shaun Wilson-Miller. This book sucked because the personable, friendly and charming author dies, and then his Dad carries on the story through his heartbreak. Definitely worth a read, Shaun seems like he was one hell of a person. 3/5
One Life by Kate Grenville. This is not the most well-known or lauded of Grenville’s work, but it his close to home for me. It’s the story of Grenville’s mother, growing up in a family with little love, surviving the great depression, marrying and navigating motherhood and work. The distance in time shrinks with the accessibility of Grenville’s writing. I could easily identify with Grenville’s mother throughout the book. 5/5
Wednesdays With Bob by Bob Hawke and Derek Rielly. Written from conversations with Bob, his friends and adversaries, it was nice to get this insight into the man in the year of his passing. A giant of Australian politics, he shaped our nation despite his personal flaws. Google Bob Hawke Canoe Joke if you’re in need of a chuckle. 4/5
Educated by Tara Westover. This is an amazing memoir, written in exact and painful prose. Westover’s story is heartbreaking- I won’t give anything away because the book unfolded itself in my hands and mind in an unforgettable way. I cringed and laughed reading this book, and sometimes had to close my eyes. 5/5
Life Lessons From A Brain Surgeon by Rahul Jandial. Non-fiction. I liked the way Jandial juxtaposed his clinical experiences with some practical lessons and myth busting about the brain. A little too pop-science-y for me overall, but there were still some very interesting ideas in here. 3/5
The Glad Shout by Alice Robinson. Post-climate disaster Melbourne, a mother fights to protect her own life and that of her daughter. Painfully close to home with the fires in Australia at the moment. Unsettling and scary and difficult to forget. 5/5

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